


Eclipse

by sailaway



Series: My Yautja Boyfriend [10]
Category: Alien vs Predator (2004), Aliens vs Predators Series - Various Authors, Predators (2010), The Predator (2018)
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Culture, Alien Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Sparring, Yautja
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 13:44:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18032852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailaway/pseuds/sailaway
Summary: or·bit /ˈôrbət/ noun. the path of a celestial object around a star, planet, or moon; to move or travel around.





	1. Soleil

**Author's Note:**

> I just realized this series is a year old! So much for plan for all the installments to be standalone one-shots, huh? You'll definitely need to read the few before this.
> 
> Note added 4/15/19: I’ve decided to turn this into a multi-chapter story. While many of my stories in this series are standalone one-shots, I have a more extended plotline planned, and I realized it made more sense to put it all in one work. I've changed the title, but this first chapter remains the same as when I originally uploaded it as a single story. This will likely run three chapters, four at most, then I’ll move on. Thanks for understanding!

 

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_A trip; a sparring session; a round of drinks; a walk of shame._

__

 

* * *

 

 

  
“I have something I must discuss with you.”

Solar's gaze was somber, and it sent Kate's heart up to lodge in her throat. “What is it?”

“I have to leave for a time. It will be longer than any time before; perhaps thirty cycles.” He came around the table to her, her head tipping back and back as he did so. “There is some unrest in our clan territory on Yautja Prime, and I have been called back to act as a sort of... representative. A mediator.”

Her heart settled back into its normal place. “Oh. I thought...”

His feet spread apart, and he pulled her between them, hands linked over her lower back. “Thought something dire?”

“I don't know. You said it so seriously.”

“I say everything seriously,” he replied, and so true was that pronouncement that it took her a moment to spot the amusement in his eyes. She sighed and swatted his abdomen.

“You aren't on the clan council, though,” she queried, once he'd caught and secured her hand between them. “You're a navigator, not a negotiator.”

“No. But the Vizier involved is a good friend of my bearer, which gives me some positive sway, and Olora trusts me to accurately ascertain the situation and perhaps smooth it over.” His smile was subtle. “And I think the ship will manage not to crash into any celestial objects in my absence.”

She elected not to question him any more, lest he think she was questioning his fitness to perform this duty. He was not overly sensitive or quick to take offense, but in yautja culture such harmless comments often inadvertently translated to passive-aggressive slights.

“When will you leave?”

“I have not been told yet. Not immediately.” His champagne eyes softened as he considered her, drawing his thumb over her knuckles. “I would have liked to bring you to my home-world, but this is not the right time.”

“Someday.” She'd like that, too. Not only visiting Yautja Prime, but it had been too long since she'd walked on _terra firma._ “It's not going anywhere, and neither am I.”

“I hope not. I happen to love... my planet quite a bit. Hush,” he added, tightening his arms around her as she opened her mouth indignantly, and instead she laughed into his chest.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
“When was the last time you sparred? Before your _chiva?_ ”

T'kicta ignored Luar's playful heckling and sprang away from him, keeping himself light and ready on the balls of his feet.

“At least mine was in living memory, _elder.”_

Despite the retort, Luar was not really that much older, but he was broader and brawnier. The smartest approach would not be to launch a full-on assault, which T'kicta would likely lose, but to stay out of reach; make him work for it, tire him out, and wait for an opening to land a well-placed blow or grip on a pressure point.

He pushed off from the mat and feinted left, ducking from Luar's right hook and darting back to the right.

“Easy now with the punches,” he taunted. "You'll mar this handsome face.”

Luar's laugh was a low rumble in his throat. “If it will knock you down a peg or two it's a sacrifice I will make.”

There was a rhythm to sparring that T'kicta found both electrifying and centering: the pound of his heart, the rapid cadence of his breaths, the tunnel-like focus on his opponent and the mental shuffle of potential moves as if through a deck of cards. There were rules for fighting in a training setting like this: tress, genitals, eyes, and neck were off limits, no strikes when your opponent was down or had his back turned, no biting, no deliberate bone-breaking. Other than that, anything to bring down your partner was permissible.

T'kicta faked an opening on his right side, to lure Luar in and allow him a hit in order to use his momentum against him and bring him to the floor. As intended Luar zeroed in on the metaphorical chink in the armor and sidled that direction, then asked conversationally, “I assume you and your cousin trained together when you were younger?”

“On occasion,” T'kicta panted. “What of it?”

Luar surged forward, aiming for a blow to the ribs – but as if psychically predicting the strategy he stopped just short, and instead mirrored the quarter-rotation T'kicta did in anticipation of intercepting Luar's momentum.

“Because he uses that trick, too.”

T'kicta regrouped fast, lunging forward to try to hook his leg behind Luar's and force him off balance – not fast enough. Luar hit him with upward elbow strike to the jaw and while he was reeling spun him so they were flush together, back to chest, T'kicta's arms crossed in front of him and his wrists securely in each of Luar's hands.

“Ready to yield?” came Luar's rasp in his ear.

T'kicta brought his heel down hard on the top of Luar's foot, raking his shinbone with his hind claw as he did. “You first.”

Luar roared in pain and T'kicta pushed hard off the mat with both feet, throwing himself backwards into Luar and forcing both their weight on the gouged leg. Luar buckled on one knee and they went down in a tangle of limbs, each struggling for the upper hand, and T'kicta bit back a grimace as Luar trapped his legs under his own and yanked hard on his still-crossed arms.

“How about now?” he growled. “Say it.”

Luar had effectively shackled him. T'kicta hissed and bucked up, but to little avail; he flung his head back, hoping to hit mandibles, but as if in anticipation Luar had his own head down and T'kicta got nothing but solid crest.

“Say it and I will let you breathe again,” Luar promised, compressing T'kicta's lungs with a flex of his biceps. _H'chak_ – “mercy” – the customary surrender. There was no shame in losing to a superior fighter, but T'kicta didn't have to like it, and he rattled out his displeasure.

With the sound the last of his air left him and his vision started to fuzz. Obstinately he clung to consciousness, and when his ears began to ring and head lolled forward Luar finally released him, shaking him by the shoulders to let the blood rush back into his arms. T'kicta sucked in a wheeze and coughed, sitting forward with his head between his knees.

“Gods, you are stubborn!” Luar crawled around in front of him and lifted his chin with his knuckle, turning it this way and that. Whatever he sought, he seemed to find it satisfactory, and leaned back on his heels. “A rougher fighter than myself might have blacked you out.”

“Maybe I was taking advantage of that,” T'kicta replied wisely, drawing back his arm as if to deliver a punch. “You have let your guard down now, and – ”

He extended his fist forward in demonstration. Luar put up a lenient palm to catch it.

“I suppose that is a strategy.” Luar looked skeptical. “You have to gamble that your sparring partner likes you enough to release you while you're still conscious.”

“'Gamble' implies risk,” T'kicta trilled. “There was never a question you'd let me go in time.”

Luar had not dropped his hand, claws slotting into the dips between T'kicta's knuckles. “You think I'm too indulgent?”

“I think weak spots should be sought and exploited.”

“I agree,” Luar shrugged, “And I happened to find one I liked very much in the form of your respiratory system.”

“Oh? So you liked leaving me breathless?”

By way of response Luar pounced on him, knocking him backward and straddling his waist. T'kicta was agile and swift, but such skills were little use beneath Luar's bulk. He bucked his hips up anyway, reclaiming his fist and sending it into Luar's stomach.

“I should have finished the job if only to shut you up,” Luar sighed deeply, and gleeful satisfaction bubbled up in T'kicta's throat to spill out in a peal of laughter.

 

 

* * *

 

  
After another two rounds they showered, and ate, and when Luar suggested something stronger than the water and herbal infusions available in the meal hall T'kicta agreed almost before he'd finished his sentence. The lounge was reasonably full, which neither minded. T'kicta had sent a message to his cousin asking him and the _ooman_ to join them, and it was not long before they appeared in the doorway, Solar casting his gaze about until he spotted Luar and T'kicta at the bar.

The _ooman_ – Kate – looked shy, and Luar suspected she must not come here often. But though she earned a few glances her novelty aboard the ship must have worn off by now, as the attention did not last long. Solar's presence, however, and the subtle way in which he oriented himself around her, undoubtedly helped dissuade anyone with a less than charitable philosophy about her.

“I must say up front,” Solar began, “That if you two are on the prowl for females I will decline any more than a single drink. But if this is only a friendly outing –

“Can it not be both?” Luar proposed.

“I suppose for some of us it is inevitable.” Solar cast a glance at T'kicta, who blinked over the top of his tankard.

“Why are you looking at me?”

“Your feigned innocence might be convincing if you could so much as pass a female in the meal line without flirting with her, Kiki – ”

“I make my own opportunities!”

For half a moment Luar wondered who 'Kiki' was.

“Kiki?” he echoed, cutting his eyes between Solar and T'kicta. One smiled wryly, and the other hid his face in his drink again.

“When he was very young he could not say his name for the longest time,” Solar explained. “It only came out as Kiki.”

T'kicta glowered at him. “And I'm sure you with your heap of syllables did not say your name at all until you could pronounce it flawlessly?”

“Naturally.”

“Kiki,” Luar repeated, tapping the base of his tankard on the bar top and watching T'kicta's mandibles twitch a little in embarrassment. “You should have introduced yourself as that from the start because from this night on I will not call you anything else.”

“Aside from family I don't let anyone call me that.” T'kicta's eyes took on a sly glitter and he fluttered his lids. “Except in bed. So go ahead and use it, but I will have no choice but to assume you have designs on me – ”

He was interrupted by Solar's roll of laughter, and cocked a brow in response. “And I suppose you make females call you by your entire name,” T'kicta accused. “First, last, and honorific – ”

“You should try it sometime,” Solar suggested placidly. “You might be surprised at how they like the honorific. Oh, forgive me; I just recalled you don't have one.”

On the end of the foursome lineup Kate listened to the banter, nursing her massive tankard and taking occasional sips of the unexpectedly savory brew. Though it looked like dark beer, it was more reminiscent of broth than any beer she'd ever tried. She couldn't decide if she liked it.

The voices beside her were rasping and alien, but the atmosphere of the conversation was familiar – the good-natured ribbing, the comfortable back-and-forth between friends. She didn't have much in the way of those here. And even though she sat without speaking, Solar's body language was not turned away from her, and she did not feel ignored, or superfluous at this gathering of comrades.

“I am a hidden gem,” T'kicta was saying now. “They will be begging for my kisses – ”

“Given what you told me about your encounter with Atal,” Luar reminded him, “I don't imagine you have kissed anybody, eh?”

“Yautja kiss each other too?” Kate wondered aloud, conveniently sparing T'kicta from having to answer. She'd never seen that in action.

“We do,” Luar replied. “Look, I will demonstrate – ” He slung his arm around Solar's neck, swaying in exaggeratedly close as if to plant one one him. Solar chuffed, blocking him with his elbow.

“No second chances.”

Luar snorted knowingly, releasing him, while T'kicta's brow knit together. “Have I missed a joke?”

Solar and Luar exchanged a subtle but meaningful look. The latter shrugged. “It would not be the first time he and I exchanged a kiss.”

Kate did a double-take between the two yautja. “You... you two were...?

“Not the way you are thinking,” Luar assured her. “We were younger; before our _chiva_. It was merely a fleeting experimentation one late night in an otherwise empty barracks. I initiated, and he indulged me.”

Solar leaned back on the bar. “The moment passed, and I learned I did not like males in that fashion – ”

“And I learned that I did,” Luar winked.

T'kicta's eyes were flicking back and forth between the two of them, torn between surprise and fascination – his expression was not one of shock, but reflected the sensation of discovering something you never knew about someone you'd known a long time.

“I kissed your cousin, and your mate,” Luar teased T'kicta and Kate without looking directly at either of them – though they looked at each other, weighing that, and then back at a very unruffled Solar. “Do not be jealous!”

“If anyone should be jealous, it's you of me,” Kate informed him, with tentative but alcohol-fueled bravado. “Since I know his kisses all too well.” For a few awkward beats she feared her attempt at joining the banter had failed, as Luar's face went blank – but then he laughed uproariously, throwing his head back, tress slipping off his shoulders.

“Now how can that be?” he queried, his golden eyes – a darker shade than Solar's – fixating intently on her mouth. From beside him, T'kicta's own gaze followed suit. “I see nothing in your anatomy to allow for it.”

“Mouth to mouth kissing can be a bit clumsy,” she admitted. “I spoke figuratively, of his many... charms.”

“I understand fully,” Luar responded sensibly. “And besides, you cannot help the deficiency of your facial structure.”

“ _He_ would not use that word to describe it.” Was that boasting in her tone? She so rarely imbibed of yautja alcohol that she forgot how strong it was. She pushed her tankard away but Luar and T'kicta's eyes were alight with curiosity now, and while Solar's coloring did not allow for a blush Kate would've sworn she could almost see one anyway.

“Speak plainly,” T'kicta demanded, leaning forward as if in anticipation of being gifted with a juicy secret.

“It would push the bounds of decency to do so,” Kate replied, enjoying how the more formal yautja speech added to the humor of her faux haughtiness. At least to her ears.

“Now that you have intrigued him he will not rest until he has solved the puzzle,” Solar murmured in English, hand slipping to the small of her back. It was the lightest touch, almost imperceptible as he moved behind her, and then falling away – public displays of affection required caution, but somehow that gave her an extra private frisson.

“What did he say?” T'kicta asked nobody in particular. Luar shrugged, but his eyes refocused on Kate's mouth, and as his brain worked she felt heat creeping up in her own cheeks.

After a long pause Luar's mandibles tugged up, and he drew T'kicta close to him, muttering in his ear. T'kicta let loose with a stifled yip of dismay and disbelief, all but cringing, and when his alarmed stare dropped to Solar's groin Kate knew Luar had sussed it out.

Solar took a calm but very lengthy drink.

 

 

* * *

 

  
Not long after Kate and Solar left the lounge started to fill up further than before. The crowd consisted of mostly males, but there were some females in the mix, with one in the nearest sunken lounge who was drawing more than a little attention. Her coloring was unremarkable but her demeanor was stately and striking, her laugh loud and hearty, and Luar found his interest piqued.

“No, let me,” T'kicta implored, following Luar's eye-line. “I know her. Somewhat, at least. She is a friend of Atal.” And his eyes glimmered, and Luar knew he was recalling their conversation in the bathhouse.

“Go on, then,” Luar acquiesced, though he had not seriously intended to pursue her, and observed with mild interest as T'kicta abandoned his half-finished ale and wove through the crowd toward his target.

When he reached her there was no hesitation before he crouched down behind her and leaned forward to say something. She startled, and Luar winced in anticipation of a scolding – perhaps he should have given him pointers – but instead she laughed once more, this time with friendly recognition, and reached back over her shoulder to touch his forearm.

There was another male at the opposite end of the bar with his eyes trained on her, Luar noticed – he was brutish and bulky, and if it came down to a fight T'kicta would not win. Well, he could no doubt run circles around the challenger, but he would lose the female.

Just as the male pushed away from the bar Luar vacated his own spot to step in front of him.

“That specific female is busy right now,” he said, his tone both courteous and meaningful.

The male bristled, at once suspicious and perplexed. Luar couldn't blame him. It was generally accepted that if you cannot fight for a female, you don't deserve her. It was a principle that Luar himself subscribed to – usually. T'kicta himself no doubt would agree, and be offended if he knew of Luar's interference.

“Allow my friend this,” Luar entreated, aiming for honesty rather than intimidation. “Do you not remember being young and untried? There are other females.”

The challenger frowned, and grumbled, but at last relented, going instead to the upper balcony where a knot of females stood conversing and observing the goings-on below.

Luar's place at the bar had been taken and he turned now, eyes finding T'kicta again. He had joined the group in the pit, sitting with his knees spread and one arm boldly draped on the couch behind the female. Either Atal truly had complimented him to her friends, or whatever he'd said to this one when he approached succeeded in sparking a connection – either way, both were fully absorbed in the conversation. In that unique way of his T'kicta's face was simultaneously bright with enthusiasm and shadowed with cocksure, heavy-lidded intention. Such blended emotion suited his features, as if they'd been specially designed for such a wealth of feeling.

Once his rank increased and trophy wall diversified Luar predicted T'kicta would be popular with the females. Quite popular indeed.

Speaking of them, there was only one here he could detect in heat; and as Luar was not prone to random encounters without either breeding or more intimate personal attachment as a motivating factor, she was his sole objective. He finished the last of his ale and slid the empty flagon onto the rack for used drinkware.

She was an aloof one, that was for certain. To the point that he almost gave up, and that was something he rarely did – but the heat scent was enticing, and T'kicta was fully occupied and Solar had a mate and Luar refused to be the only one returning to a cold and empty bed. As it turned out she was acquaintances with another _chiva_ master he'd worked with on Yautja Prime, and knew Luar by reputation if not by name, and once she made that connection she warmed toward him considerably.

Very considerably.

On their way out of the lounge, arm in arm, it occurred to Luar he should let T'kicta know he was leaving; but he did not want to interrupt. He glanced back - the couple sat more closely now, T'kicta's mouth curving in some flippant and conspiratorial joke. If the female was particularly receptive, they might be leaving soon enough on their own.

Luar silently wished him good fortune before turning away, and letting himself be all but lead out the doors.

 

 

* * *

 

  
“ _Oomans_ are very social,” Solar said without preamble once he and Kate were back in their rooms.

“Yes,” she agreed, without asking why he'd remarked on it. She'd learned that if she only waited, he would typically clarify his thought process in his own time.

“I sense you enjoyed this outing tonight,” he added, as she toed her boots off and curled up on the couch with her notebook. “We will do it more often.”

“I would like that.”

For a while there was only leather creaking and the metallic click of compartment doors as Solar removed and put away his armor, and the scratch of her pen as she jotted down some of the evening's more humorous points. She'd bought the notebook right before that life-changing hiking trip, and since then she deliberately kept her handwriting small and only included things of interest, so there were many blank pages left... but the pen was going to run out soon. She'd tried a yautja stylus and found it uncomfortably large for her hand, but eventually she'd have no choice but to use one.

Solar came over on silent bare feet, looking over her shoulder. He'd never questioned the journal – sporadic though she was about writing in it – seeming to find it perfectly reasonable for her to keep a personal record. Like bio-mask recordings, just in another format. He couldn't read any of it, or any English aside from his own name, since she'd once spelled out her best approximation for him. He'd found it bizarrely long. The yautja alphabet was based more on phonetic letter groups – apparently her name translated fairly well, with only two symbols needed, while his full given name somehow fit into just five.

Now he put his hand lightly on her head, only his claws touching her scalp and palm just barely brushing her ponytail. “Neither Luar nor my cousin would find it amiss if you contacted them while I was away.”

“Are you telling me that in case I need protection?”

“I am telling you so that you feel safe and have resources.” His hand drifted down to her exposed neck. “Luar likes you. He likes most everybody, of course, but I can tell he does not think any less of you for your... origins.”

“How generous of him.” Her sarcasm had no bite to it, though. Luar seemed genuine, and warm – he would have even if he was a man, but especially so for a yautja. He was probably the most social and human-like in personality she'd come across so far. She'd never share that conclusion, though, in case it insulted him. She had no doubt he could rip out a spine with the best of them.

Kate shivered a little as Solar's knuckles grazed her nape, tickling the fine hairs there. “If you keep touching me like that...”

“Then...?” he prompted.

“Then,” she repeated, adopting a more authoritative tone than usual, “I'll expect you to follow through.”

“If you command it,” he intoned gallantly. Both big hands spread along her arms to slide her tank top straps down and when the air hit her bared breasts, she heard the low resonance of his purr.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Primary shift had not even begun the next morning when Luar found himself unceremoniously expelled from the female's chambers, standing in the corridor clutching his half-tied loincloth to his crotch.

He hoped he'd at least left a pup in her. That would be an auspicious beginning to his time aboard.

He had just enough time to return to his own rooms for a shower, but not for a meal, as he was due in the _kehrite_ for class. He dressed anew, and went to wait for a lift – and as he stood there one opened, and T'kicta came out of it. He must have spent the night on the sororal deck. Welts latticed the pale creamy green of his chest and his gaze was unusually tired, fixed on nothing in particular.

“Greetings, _da'qinna,_ ” Luar offered with a smile. At his voice T'kicta lifted his head, lethargic eyes lighting up as he exited the lift. “Why so glum?”

“'Sunlight'?” T'kicta parroted the term back at him; it had been used ironically but now the clouds cleared from his face, expression realigning as if to fit the teasing word. “Glum? _Me?_ How could I be glum when I have passed the night in the very bosom of heaven?”

“You two are blocking the lift,” someone groused as he pushed between them. Several other yautja wanted to board also and so Luar let himself be carried into it, turning as he did to maintain eye contact with T'kicta. 

“Eat something,” he called over the other passengers' heads. Though there was no artifice in T'kicta's sudden shift between moods, there were still dark circles under his eyes. “Brag all you like but you look like _c'jit._ ”

“ _C'jit!?_ ” T'kicta's grin was breezy once more; he spread his hands as he stepped backward away from the lift, short tress dancing with the shrug of his shoulders. “I thought I looked like sunlight?”

And then the door swished closed, and Luar chuckled to himself, and though it was only under his breath the sensation seemed to fill not just his body but the entire oblivious lift.

 

 

* * *

 


	2. Luna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't see the note in the previous chapter, I’ve decided to turn this into a multi-chapter story. While many of my stories in this series are standalone one-shots, I have a more extended plotline planned, and I realized it made more sense to put it all in one work. I've changed the title, but the first chapter remains the same as when I originally uploaded it as a single story. This will likely run three chapters, four at most, then I’ll move on. Thanks for understanding!

* * *

 

 

T'kicta squinted through the wide visor of the welding mask, focusing as the jagged metal segments fused neatly together beneath his plasma torch, leaving only the faintest scar to show it had ever been breached. A chunk of space debris had battered a hole in the ship's side, and while an automated maintenance drone fixed the outer hull almost immediately, there'd been a minor crack in the inner hull that required only a few moments beneath his tools to reinforce.

He liked working with his hands. Always had. He could never be a lawmaker, or strategist, or sit pontificating around a council table – he appreciated handling a problem literally, wielding the tools for the task and seeing the tangible products of his labor. There might be more than one way to go about the process depending on the welder's preference but there was no abstraction or questioning the result – a broken thing was fixed, or it was not.

Even a small amount of plasma light was intense, so the visor was heavily tinted, but even without it this remote storage sector was so dim that T'kicta didn't notice the shadowy figure until it was too close. He startled, head swiveling – then released a creative string of curses when he made out the recognizable spiked crest and broad shoulders.

“What the _pauk_ are you doing down here, Luar? How did you find me?”

“Greetings to you too,” Luar said reproachfully, but without real hurt, as he took a knee. “I asked around. I thought we were going to meet for _ulata._ ”

“Yes, well, as you can see, I was – ” Deeming the work satisfactory, T'kicta switched off the torch and flipped his mask up with a backward flick of his head. “Sidetracked. Someone has to keep everybody from being vacuumed out into space.”

“The court is likely full now, but we can go to observe." Luar's grin turned knowing. "The bearer of one of my students is a fine prospect and I know she will be there, if you would like to make an attempt...?”

At the suggestion T'kicta experienced an inexplicable sinking sensation, not unlike a handful of his entrails being lobbed haphazardly into a wet sack. But he rallied, smiling gamely. “Do you have to ask?”

Luar was looking at him thoughtfully. “If you are not keen – ”

“You heard me well enough!” T'kicta laughed, gesturing for Luar to back up so they could exit the narrow space. “Allow me to put my tools away and go wash.”

“There exists an alternative,” Luar put forth. “According to one of the _chiva_ instructors they have restructured the largest obstacle course to be particularly challenging. It is tailored for juveniles, naturally, but it could provide us some diversion.”

T'kicta made a show of stretching. “Now that you suggest it, I have been cooped up in the belly of this ship for far too long.”

Luar's brows knit together skeptically. “That repair must have taken you an hour at most.”

“As I said,” T'kicta trilled, “Far too long.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The obstacle _kehrite_ was vast, consisting of a series of mixed-height levels punctuated by tall blocky structures, tunnels, and sunken pits. Many of the pieces were modular, and designed to come apart and be reshaped to a new configuration, and now they stood scattered all but at random, with no clear course or path through – no doubt intentional.

As the remodeling was technically incomplete and not yet open to students, T'kicta and Luar had the space wholly to themselves. As the latter went hurtling from one obstacle to the next, running and crouching and searching for his his next landing spot or jumping-off point; the former could not help but think how magnificent he must have been on his _chiva._ T'kicta had barely passed his own; a fact he was not quick to either remember or admit. Killing? It was a satisfying conclusion, but anyone could end a life if they were in possession of an appropriate weapon. The chase, though – scouting, tracking, stalking, all senses firing as he moved stealthy and silent on a target – he liked.

Luar was bulkier and chose different approaches than T'kicta, who could leap more lightly and slip through small spaces with greater ease. While Luar ascended a dangling rope in a heartbeat, pulling his body weight up hand over hand with bulging biceps, T'kicta cleared a gap between squat towers, vaulted over the railing on the other side, and tucked into a roll as he hit the lower level below.

When T'kicta reached their chosen goal first – a high rectangular metal frame, soon to be plastered over and turned into some structure, perhaps a false cave or tree – he crowed out a victory, swinging up on top just for the fun of it.

“I recall agreeing on an ending point, Kiki, not a race,” Luar panted in good-natured exasperation as he arrived a few moments later, looking up with hands on hips as T'kicta crouched on top of the arch, blood pounding in his ears as he grinned down.

“It is as if you don't know me at all.”

“That is my shame, then,” Luar relented, but he stretched up and tugged a kilt tie, hanging down against T'kicta's hip, that had come loose in the exertion. T'kicta chirped in feigned annoyance, swatting at Luar's hand and tucking the leather tie back where it belonged.

With the movement there was a creak, and the unfinished framework not made to support an adult yautja trembled, and it dawned on T'kicta it was about to break the very moment that it did.

His stomach lurched as he dropped backwards, and reflexively he tried to rotate his feet underneath him, but the bar on which he sat was toppling and he had no purchase and there wasn't enough distance between himself and the floor –

The frame crashed deafeningly down without him, and his feet hit the ground hard as he slammed into a solid form – it was Luar, he'd caught him under the arms, staggering back as he kept them both upright. T'kicta's hands flew out to catch himself on Luar's chest, adrenaline knifing through his veins as he oriented himself and blinked up into startled gold eyes.

“ _C'jit_ ,” was all T'kicta said, the single syllable rushing clipped and faint out of him. He flexed his limbs, detecting nothing broken nor harmed – and though he felt reliably upright once more, Luar's steadying hands remained on his lower back as if he was not too sure. “Do you... think I will be punished for this damage?”

Luar's expression flickered, as if he had been roused from a daydream to instead refocus on reality. His features settled into an unimpressed frown and at last he spoke, not answering but instead grumbling, “You weigh more than you look.”

"I am very dense.” As if simultaneously, they were reminded Luar had yet to let him go; in sync Luar dropped his hands and T'kicta pushed flippantly at his shoulder, chuffing with lighthearted arrogance. “It is all my charm and charisma.”

He rolled his shoulders as if to cast off any lingering embarrassment of the fall, though Luar did not seem inclined to make fun of him for it. He peered down at the fallen framework – one of the posts had snapped where it was secured to the floor. He could probably fix it himself before anybody noticed.

“I think I am indeed responsible,” he acknowledged contritely.

“You? Responsible? About anything?” Luar had to dodge backwards, chortling, as T'kicta mimed leaning back forward to hit him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

T'kicta had only been to the clan leader's offices once before, when he'd first joined the clanship – which seemed longer ago than it really was. He was summoned just as he was completing a standard combat simulation, required bi-annually for all blooded adults, and went straight from the sim chamber to the upper decks. He had to pass through a series of connecting rooms, wait before being admitted, and now stood with formal deference before Olora Juhd-te Kran as she in turn stood in front of her grand desk, perusing a file on her comm-pad. The floor was polished to such a sheen that he could all but see his own reflection in it. His expression revealed his uncertainty, and he put forth an effort to erase it. It was utterly unknown to him why he was here, and since her demeanor revealed nothing, he scoured his brain for any clue. He had committed no infractions, offended no high-ranking females, at least not in recent memory –

“I am sure you are already aware your elder cousin is returning to the homeworld on my orders.” She spoke without preamble, her voice calm and, if not exactly warm, at least benign.

“I do know. He told me.”

“I want you to go with him.”

“I will,” T'kicta said immediately. Then it sank in and he ran on, “Me? Why?” He quickly adjusted his tone to one of self-assurance rather than disbelief. “In what capacity?”

Olora waited a patient beat, as if to be sure he was finished speaking. “This is a sensitive mission. Those of status, like your cousin, are expected, but you will be freer to move about due to your lower rank. The best spies are those who go unnoticed as such.”

“...spy?”

The skin around Olora's shrewd eyes creased benevolently. “Perhaps not quite the correct word. But I need someone versatile, adept at tracking and surveillance, yet not high-ranking enough that his presence would arouse undue suspicion. Your personnel file and student records, as well as your convenient relationship with the one I've already picked for this mission, indicate you will be a good choice.”

T'kicta's muscle fibers tensed of their own accord, as if preparing to spring into action at that very instant. “It is a great honor. That is… what I intended to say.”

“I appreciate your readiness.” A band in Olora's tress caught the light as she observed him, one mandible tapping. “And I sense not rote obedience, but sincerity. Such enthusiasm is a benefit of youth, but also indicative of character.”

That sounded like praise, and though T'kicta was buoyed by it, he contained any undue reaction and only inclined his head in silent thanks. Olora hadn't seemed to require an acknowledgment at all, however, because she was already continuing.

“I imagine that no matter how willing you may be, you still remain interested in the specific parameters of this mission?”

T'kicta's smile was slight, but a smile nonetheless. “Very much so.”

“Tell me, young warrior,” Olora began, taking a seat on a long, sleek couch facing the floor-to-ceiling viewport. “Are you aware of any of the rumors, regarding discord among our clan on the homeworld?”

“Nothing that I can now recall.”

“Then come, sit with me, and I shall fill in the gaps in your knowledge.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I will depart tomorrow.”

Kate watched Solar move about their chambers – with purpose, knowing exactly what he was looking for – from where she leaned against the door frame.

“So soon? I thought there was more time before.”

“As did I.” He drew a knife from its sheath, tested the edge on his palm, then slid it back in with a snick. “Our schedule has been accelerated.”

“And you still don’t know how long you’ll be gone?”

“That is dependent on when our task is complete.”

“And you can’t tell me what it is that you'll be doing?”

“I have told you,” he reminded her over his shoulder, flipping through a stack of holo disks as if through a deck of cards. “It is a diplomatic mission... of sorts.”

“There you go being vague again,” she teased.

He came and kissed the crown of her head, in his own way – a pressing of closed mandibles, a mimicked kissing sound in his throat. The assignment must involve sensitive intel, for him to remain so close-lipped when he usually didn't mind her many questions. She understood, but still, if he was away for so long she would've liked being able to imagine what he was doing.

“I received a message from T'kicta,” he said, sounding surprised even now. “He is coming with me.”

“Really? Why?”

“I believe because he is an unexpected choice, and not a known threat to anyone on the homeworld. It offers us a degree of discretion and deniability we might not have had if Olora sent two mature warriors instead of only one.”

He pulled back now, touching her jawline with the back of his knuckle.

“I know you are capable of caring for yourself in my absence, but I have not been gone so long before.” His gaze was soft but unblinking, entreating her to give heed to his words. “If you need assistance, I want you to go to Luar-thwei. I trust him. And I sense he rather likes you.”

She'd noticed before how unexpectedly friendly the big red yautja was to her, but it was a pleasant pronouncement nonetheless. “What makes you think so?”

“I see in him little reserve around you. He seems curious about _ooman_ ways. Luar is not as rigid as some others of our kind.” Solar had switched to English and now he paused, rifling through the vocabulary. “Less traditional in some ways, less... _praia_ , do you know this word?”

“Orthodox?” Kate supplied, offering the closest translation, that she'd used before when discussing yautja customs.

“Yes. He is less orthodox.”

“Isn't he going on the mission, though?”

“No, why would he be? He is not needed.”

“Oh – I don't know.” She turned her face into his hand, large enough to span chin to temple. “For some reason I just assumed. He and T'kicta are practically glued at the hip now.”

“Mm.”

At Solar's noncommittal response Kate glanced up; he was looking away over the top of her head, his expression ruminative.

“What is it?” she pressed.

He blinked owlishly, pulled from whatever thoughts he’d been sunk in. “Nothing.”

"Sorry, 'glued at the hip' is a figure of speech, it means - "

"Do not worry. I understood."

“I'd like to see Yautja Prime,” she mused as he returned to his packing. “Not now, of course, but someday.”

“While I cannot bring you there, but I can bring something back.”

“Like what?”

He considered the satchel he held, then her, gears in his head turning. “I am not yet sure. Do you trust me to find something that pleases you?”

At that moment Iyona chose to rub against her, arching like a Halloween cat and knocking her little round head into Kate's ankle. Kate smiled, and indicated the cat with the downward tip of her chin.

“You have yet to let me down.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Luar liked rough mating. He needed only the fingers of one hand to count how many times he'd had to ask a partner to rein in the aggression. But this past night left him feeling like he'd been run through a heavy piece of machinery, and though the female's manner had been amiable at first, the mismatch between that and her sexual violence had spun him in circles. By the time he'd limped halfway back from her quarters to his, scowling ahead and pretending he didn't see anyone etiquette would require he acknowledge, he had worked himself into a thoroughly foul mood.

Why had fortune deserted him? Why was he clashing so terribly with every female he partnered with, not a one of them a fit for that jagged and empty part of his being that wanted not just _to_ mate, but _a_ mate? Not fleeting carnal pleasure but companionship, a bond, the kind that left him comfortable and content and completely at ease? Had his stint at monogamy spoiled him for life?

Just as he exited a side passage into a wider and more crowded corridor – he could hardly remember having walked here, so lost in his pondering was he – an unblood ran into him, and he almost snarled, and the unintentional expression on his face must have made any verbal reprimand superfluous because the unblood dipped his head in apology and took off the other way.

In his haste the unblood almost ran into someone again – a someone that Luar knew, gait lively and swift as he wove through the foot traffic to the passage entry in which Luar still stood.

“Luar!” T'kicta all but crashed into him in his exuberance. “Listen to this – ”

“Must you hurtle into me too?” Luar barked without thinking, throwing his hand out to the wall to keep his balance. Pain jolted up from his elbow, bruised from the night's activities, and he winced. “Do you think you could manage to behave yourself for once?”

T'kicta stopped short as if he'd collided with a force field, cocking his head warily.

“Why this tone? What is troubling you?”

“There is no reason. I... my mind is full of many things.” Even to himself Luar's voice was gruff and uncharacteristically curt. But his very essence felt drained, a sopping rag overzealously used and then ruthlessly wrung out.

“Oh – I see.” T'kicta seemed taken aback by the rebuff. “I only wanted to tell you – ”

“I have neither time nor desire for conversation,” Luar muttered under his breath, passing a hand over his brow. He had barely arisen and already his head ached as if he'd been struck. “My class begins soon.”

“Then I will not keep you from your students.” Such reticence looked unfamiliar on T'kicta's face. His mandibles twitched, as if he held back from adding something. But he said nothing, and drew away to let Luar pass, and Luar strode onward feeling like the living embodiment of a thundercloud.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Luar conducted a lengthy practical exam for the students alongside the other instructor for this age group, with all four of their classes combined in the largest _kehrite._ By the time he was finished at the end of the cycle he was not tired, precisely; but his earlier mood had not improved, only been stuffed down deep inside where it could, at least temporarily, not distract him. He had not the resolve to so much as endure a noisy canteen, let alone converse or socialize, so he placated his empty stomach with a nutri-pack from his equipment cabinet and took to his bed.

It was early when he next awoke. He had no classes today, as his students had their scheduled day of rest, and while he showered (taking longer than he should) he decided he would like to go to breakfast with T'kicta – he ought to apologize for his surliness, and felt completely sure T'kicta would have all but forgotten the exchange entirely.

When he reached T'kicta's rooms he thumbed the request access button and, after standing for a few moments, was about to press it again when the door opened to reveal one of T'kicta's suitemates.

“Yes?” the suitemate said, dispensing with a customary greeting; Luar was here often enough that formalities weren't necessary.

“I seek T'kicta,” he said, and received a head shake in response.

“He is gone already.”

“Gone?” Luar repeated. “To where?”

“With his cousin, to Yautja Prime.” The suitemate sighed with admiration and envy. “Leader Olora requested him personally for the assignment. Did he not tell you?”

“...no.”

Well, he had tried.

He'd merely caught him in a sour temper, Luar reminded himself as he left that housing sector, recalling his admonishment of T'kicta's now-understandable enthusiasm. His own exasperation had been unrelated, and T'kicta a mere passing victim of it. Yet when he turned over his rebuke in his mind, he wondered if it could've been taken as a critique of T'kicta's character.

_Do you think you could manage to behave yourself for once?_

It was the kind of scolding handed down to a child; reflecting on it now, he was surprised he had not been called out then and there for the disrespect. T'kicta would've been within his rights to do so.

A sharp tone could be forgiven, but harsh words were not always so easily taken back.

But they had not been so very harsh, had they? A brief foul mood was of little consequence. They were not petty and easily upset children. He would send a message asking about the mission later, he concluded. Kiki could tell him everything he'd intended to.

He was heading back to his own rooms as if on an automatic track, he realized then, breakfast plans forgotten. He stopped in the middle of the corridor, re-calibrating.

He still needed to eat. And he was not yet such a lonely fool that he couldn't do so alone.

 

* * *

 


	3. Umbra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration by Luar's "mom," @BeastSoulArt on Twitter!

 

* * *

 

 

 

In general, yautja were not sentimental about places, or objects. Nonetheless the sight of the planet he'd been born and raised, spent the first two-thirds of his life, invigorated Solar as if his very cells recognized his origin.

Their destination was swaddled in dense clouds and after a few moments of gray blindness the ship broke through into a tableau of lush, verdant green. Rain spattering on the front view-screen awakened T'kicta, who had been napping but awakened as swiftly as if by the press of a button.

“Did you reread the mission file before you made yourself comfortable in my passenger seat?” Solar said.

“Should I have done?” T'kicta straightened in the seat, reaching for the console and fanning his hand in the gesture that would call up the communications holo. “It was hardly forgettable.”

Solar had somewhat obfuscated the truth when he'd described the situation to Kate as “unrest.” And calling it a diplomatic mission was more or less a lie. He didn't like to lie, particularly to those he cared about. But discretion was of the utmost importance. On the surface, it was a mere political scuffle, and one that the majority of the populace was unaware of, but which could potentially have disastrous ramifications.

Preventing said ramifications was why he was here.

One of the clan's most brilliant scientists had engineered a form of gene therapy that, from the intel he had, enhanced the recipient's natural-given abilities – strength, senses, endurance. Such promises were lofty, not to mention philosophically questionable, and thus the situation was kept under wraps for now. The scientist in question, however, happened to have political backing, and no one involved showed signs of being willing to drop it.

Leader Olora could have put an end to it completely with some unequivocal words via holo but, as she'd explained to Solar, she suspected that might be merely cutting the head off the weed and leaving the insidious roots to remain. As far as clans went, theirs was one that valued tradition, and anyone involved in challenging this status quo might also find that a reason to continue conducting said business out of sight of their leader.

Open and aggressive action had its places, but so did subtler methods, and skill in that area was something Solar possessed. Their task was simple, but not necessarily easy: play the part of her representatives, feign interest in this new biotechnology, and eventually, once he was confident he'd fully ascertained the situation, they would move on to a two-pronged approach. T'kicta would infiltrate participating facilities and any computer systems housing the project's data and research, and destroy them as completely as he could. And, if necessary, Solar would eliminate any uncooperative individuals.

This wasn't a reconnaissance mission. Nor a diplomatic one. Not truly.

It was sabotage and assassination.

Ahead the hills became steeper and, slotted atop a cliff face, was the capitol of Taitava clan territory. Densely packed infrastructure glinted like metallic veins as it wound down the hillside, the third of the planet's trinary suns skimming the horizon and gilding the landscape. Though the blocky buildings were not uniform in appearance most were stepped in design to fit into the slanting terrain, accented by terraces and walkways and modular additions. Many structures extended out like ledges, near-impossibly balanced for their size, puzzled haphazardly together on the slopes instead of stacked in tidy rows – Isilhe was not a city that had been planned all at once, but rather had expanded naturally over time.

It was one of these ledges, an vast inverted pyramid shape with a spacious rooftop landing pad, to which Solar guided the ship: the _sedaha,_ the center of law and administration. The anticipated message appeared on the communications holo, one automatically generated from the _sedaha's_ security system upon recognizing their imminent approach. T'kicta keyed in an appropriate landing clearance code, and in return received the crisp authorization chime.

As soon as the ship touched the surface and he powered down the engines T'kicta rose to open the side entry hatch on the side. Heat and humidity flowed in like a wave as the seal broke, better than even the best ship's climate system could replicate. It felt good in Solar's lungs, bearing no telltale hint of recycling or conditioning – there was fuel and the duracrete of the landing pad but beyond that, more fundamental, florals and foliage and the jungle's damp depths.

If Solar had been unduly attached to his homeworld, he would not have left, yet still it brought him a quiet sense of familiarity and peace.

T'kicta angled a glance his way. “Shall we locate our accommodations now or go straight to business?”

“The former,” Solar decided. While they were here for a purpose, he'd rather downplay that, at least at the beginning. “Also, we should change.”

They were both clad in the usual simple loincloths but had brought more formal attire. Nothing unduly extravagant, but enough of a visual change to present the aura of amicable representatives rather than warriors on a mission. Which they were.

Once more, Solar was reminded how conspiratorial this felt. It was too bold to imagine himself as a clan leader, but if he was, if there existed an official he didn't trust to follow his orders then he would remove that individual from the position. By any means necessary. Leader Olora's method, in contrast, felt circuitous. Almost underhanded. But then, clan leaders did not reach such a rank by mere chance, and it made sense to take a cautious tack, to enact the desired change with discretion and ease rather than rather than conspicuous violence.

“ _Chalana tich'uru tai'tava-kiele,_ ” T'kicta recited knowingly. Solar nodded his agreement. It was an old saying, from a dialect long out of use, one from which their clan had derived its name and that applied neatly to this situation. _With soft footsteps and a strong hand._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kate had always been rather self-sufficient, and liked to think of herself as such even now. Unfortunately, as she struggled with the shower, she felt like that particular brand of helpless housewife left floundering in the absence of her man.

Yautja tech was reasonably intuitive – for a yautja. Something about the added humidity in the bathroom, pumped in through a vent as soon as someone entered, made the little touchpad never like to recognize her fingertips. And now, after many futile attempts at initiating the water flow, the panel that controlled all functions in the bathroom appeared to have locked her out. Why a damn bathroom needed a lock-out feature was beyond her, but almost all the tech had it by default. She would've grit her teeth and tolerated an icy spray, but the shower refused to give her a single drop. And there were toileting matters to consider.

There was a process to solve this, of course. She wasn't totally helpless. She could use Solar's computer to put in a work order, and given his rank it would be fixed sooner rather than later. She didn't really care for the idea of some stranger coming in (she had a mental image of a portly older yautja with a plumber's crack) when she was alone... but she was worrying for no reason. It was this, or use the public bathhouses, which did not bear thinking about.

She put in the work order; at least, she thought she did. Her ability at reading and writing the yautja glyphs still lagged behind her vocal fluency. Her success was confirmed when, less than an hour later, the request access alert pinged.

She opened the door to reveal a rather slim young yautja in the corridor outside. He obviously was not expecting her because he was looking over her head, then his eyes dropped down and he startled.

“ _You_ summoned me?” From his tone it seemed clear he was aware of the presence of a human aboard, and was surprised to find her behind the particular door he'd been sent to.

“Yes,” she said, uncomfortable under the weight of his appraisal. “The bathroom control panel – ”

“What did you do to it?” He brushed past her, the deferential demeanor he'd had when she first opened the door dissipating beneath skepticism.

“I'm not sure.” As she followed him she was torn between deference of her own – typically the best way to deal with yautja, to both avoid inadvertently giving offense and to escape unwanted notice – and irritation at his abrupt air of insolence. She was in the suites of an elite warrior, wasn't she? No matter what anyone thought she was to him, that association had to count for something, right?

She almost ran into the yautja's back; he'd stopped without warning, gazing upon Solar's admittedly eye-catching trophy wall.

“A magnificent display,” he said reverently.

“Yes,” Kate agreed, for lack of anything else to say. “It's very impressive.”

The yautja looked down at her as if surprised she was still there. “You can leave, if you wish. This may take some time.”

She thought it would be a quick fix, an override code or a reset or something. Surely it wasn't customary to vacate for this kind of simple repair work? Or maybe he was trying to be courteous.

“I can do that,” she settled on eventually, as he brushed past her once again. She supposed the alternative was hanging around and awkwardly pretending he wasn't there and wasn't giving her odd looks.

From the bathroom came a grunt of assent.

Kate went to lunch, and after to the library – they didn't call it that, but that's essentially what it was – then ran into a youngblood who once taught her dice for a lark, and now seemed to enjoy playing her just for the pleasure of taking all her coin. But socializing was socializing, and he was good-natured even as he cleaned her out, and when she reminded him that the more they played the better she'd get, he even laughed in acknowledgment.

It wasn't until the next morning she realized a skull had disappeared from Solar's trophy wall.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_T'kicta, I trust this missive finds you well. Whatever your mission parameters, I am certain that with you and your cousin working together, you will speedily fulfill them and return soon._

Gods! What maudlin nonsense was this? It may well have been scribbled by a pup missing its parent. Luar erased the entire thing in two swipes of his fingertip and pushed his comm-pad away.

It was a triviality. One with so hearty a character as T'kicta would not dwell on a few curtly spoken words from a friend. He had undoubtedly forgotten about it right away; he was busy with his work, and was not ruminating and dissecting it or giving it any thought at all.

Not like Luar was doing now.

Against his better judgment he reached for his comm-pad again.

_Greetings. Though I know little of your assignment, it must be of great import to have been chosen personally by the clan leader, and so I compliment you on it. Given the length of time of your absence, I hope you find time for leisure. If your duties take you to Isilhe, there is a sporting complex near the three bridges, which you likely have not visited before as it is new, and I can wholly recommend it._

Now he sounded as if he was not taking their mission seriously, and suggesting instead they treat it like an idle pleasure jaunt.

This was ridiculous.

He began a third draft, and sent the pointless thing without reading it over, then put the pad in a compartment before he could waste any more energy on something so incidental and inane.

_My compliments to you, T'kicta, on having received a assignment personally from the clan leader. She would not have chosen anyone other than the best candidate. I bid you success and good fortune._

 

 

* * *

 

 

“There is _no_ honor in it,” Solar said, unbuckling his elegant belt with enough force that a string of tiny beads broke and went bouncing across the polished stone floor. “What's more, I find the number of supporters shameful. How anyone could submit to artificial genetic modification and call himself a true warrior defies decency and reasoning.”

From the rather spartan couch, T'kicta watched a bead roll into the shadow beneath the low center table.

Da'dtin Han, the creator of what he liked to call the “enhancement,” had been evasive about allowing them laboratory access. But in the end, the aging scientist couldn't in good reason put off the clan leader's representatives, and they were granted entry to the small private facility. They had been supervised by the project's sponsor, Vizier Pe-yut, a willowy female who hovered behind them both – whether she was seeking their approval or poorly concealing her suspicion couldn't be known.

To some extent T'kicta paid closer attention to the facility itself than the secrets it held, considering he may well have to break into it later. That thought intimidated and excited him. While he did not excel at noticing body language and tone of voice like Solar, he noticed environmental details – the locks, the exits and entrances, the placement of control panels. Regardless, both had presented polite and interested faces, professing curiosity over the provided data and details. And as soon as they'd returned to the privacy of their provided lodging, the normally reserved Solar gave impassioned voice to his true feelings.

“I suspect they have already begun experimental trials on yautja,” T'kicta put forth. An offhand comment made at a dinner two nights earlier had given him pause. He couldn't recall what precisely was said, but while extolling the virtues of the enhancements a junior scientist had, for a sentence or two, slipped into the present tense.

Gaze fixed past him out into the darkening city, Solar inclined his head in pensive agreement.

Five cycles on-planet and T'kicta had had enough of the entire assignment. It had been pleasant to begin with: fine food, spacious surroundings, fresh conversation, and the sounds and sights of his homeworld from the little terrace of their lodging... what was to complain about?

Pleasant trappings, indeed. But it did not come without a price. How could one properly enjoy a discussion with someone while trying to unobtrusively extract information? He liked plain speech, as did most everyone he knew. That included Solar, who was far better at such maneuvering and finesse than he. Sabotaging the laboratory: now that he could enjoy. Not sitting at a banquet table trying to steer the conversation the way he wanted it to go and feeling utterly transparent about it.

“He has spent too much time locked in that facility,” Solar mused aloud, rolling a tress tendril between his fingers. Such fidgeting was uncharacteristic of him. “He has gone _h'ulij-pe._ Crazy. His brain is addled, genius or not. He would have gone nowhere with this if he did not have the ear of one of the more unconventional viziers.”

They'd been shown what the genetic enhancements could do: contained within a deeper, tucked away part of the facility were four modified yaut-hounds. While they could be fierce to begin with, and appeared almost normal upon first glance, the modifications had transformed them: they were bigger, eyes peculiar and pale instead of the usual brown, and they paced their respective cells as if spoiling for a fight. As the yautja observed through a viewing window, a technician delivered a low shock to the electronic collars the animals wore, and in an instinctive response of pain and aggression their hides rippled and hardened into plate scales.

There was a near-indestructible beast on an ice world in the Ganda system that could do that. T'kicta said so, and received an enigmatic smile in response.

“Our inspiration comes from many places,” Da'dtin had said smoothly.

Using yaut-hounds as hunting aids was not forbidden, but neither was it common. Most saw it as an unfair advantage, not quite sporting. Using an enhanced hound would be controversy enough, but taking that to the next level and modifying yautja themselves?

“What of the philosophical aspects?” Solar had pressed as they left the facility, in a manner impressively casual given how disgusted he must have been. “Though I have not lived on-planet for many spans, I know a considerable number of those aboard the clanship would not welcome this manner of... improvement.”

“Not everyone has such lofty ideals,” Vizier Pe-yut had pronounced with great assurance, waving a be-ringed hand. “Do you not think most would prefer to be stronger, faster, bigger? Better?”

“Bigger is not always better,” was Solar's only concession to his actual opinion, but it was paired with an idle smile that was convincing to everyone except T'kicta, who knew him well enough to see the falseness in it.

“Do you think they can be dissuaded?” T'kicta posed now. The light in both Da'dtin and Pe-yut's eyes bore strange resemblance to the deeply religious. And the look in his cousin's gaze now was hot with righteous contempt.

“No. No, I don't.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I have a problem. The bathroom touchpad locked itself, and a tech came to fix it, and after he left I realized he'd stolen a skull from Solar's trophy wall.”

Luar pondered Kate's confession, evaluating the empty spot in question. At a loss for what to do – she certainly didn't feel brazen enough to confront the thief directly – she'd done the only thing she could think of. After contacting Luar he'd come over almost immediately. She hadn't expressed urgency in her message, but he must have thought she needed prompt assistance, and she felt a bit foolish now but he didn't seem exasperated.

“No doubt that's considered a serious offense,” she pressed on. “I also don't like feeling disrespected, by someone boldly stealing from my rooms when they wouldn't dare to do so if Solar was here. He will notice it missing, of course, so I want it back before he returns. But I also don't want to cause trouble.”

Luar's brow puckered in thought, arms folding across his wide chest. “Personal conflicts like this are generally handled between individuals, and are not subject to any clan discipline.” The rough bass of his voice made him difficult for her to understand, but he didn't speak rapidly, at least. “But if he's an unblood as you believe, while his youth and lack of status will be taken into account, protocol dictates I inform his _chiva_ instructor so he can receive proper discipline.”

Kate winced. Yautja honor was very tied to their trophies and hunting achievements, and the theft of one to (presumably) pass off as his own would not been seen in a good light. Like “stolen valor.”

“You worry for this unblood?” Luar questioned, reading her facial expression.

“I'm angry about what he did,” Kate clarified. “But in all honesty, any punishment handed down to him for it will likely be... far harsher than my _ooman_ sensibilities deem appropriate.”

He might have smiled as he processed that. “We will see what we can do.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The dusty tang of blood and sand. The weighty _thunk_ of flesh hitting flesh. The crowd roared its approval, howling for more and placing bets among themselves.

“This is a waste of time.” The beaded netting overlaying Solar's formal kilt clicked as he shifted from one foot to the other, the subtle movement the only sign of his impatience. In the pit below their exclusive terrace three combatants wove around each other, one spitting a mouthful of green onto the hard-packed sandy floor. They were professional fighters – _jedhin-jedhin,_ hand-to-hand combat only. The Vizier Pe-yut had invited them to this event, which was apparently an important one for those who followed the sport.

“Already so eager to don the role of assassin, cousin?” T'kicta teased in an undertone, so the other occupants of the terrace – the Vizier, a grizzled elder, a handful of assorted dignitaries – couldn't hear them.

“If necessary. I have no time for dawdling, nor for _ic'jit.”_

T'kicta shot him a glance. From the pit came a bellow of triumph. “You think so? Genetic modification may be ideologically questionable, but...”

He let that stand. _Ic'jit:_ bad blood. It was not a term to be used lightly. Especially as it was not just permitted, but encouraged, to execute bad bloods on sight.

“Do not think me thirsty for violence,” Solar said begrudgingly. “I would require proof of use of modifications on an actual yautja before I took such a step. You know my opinion on this disgrace, and if it has indeed occurred...”

He stopped when he was approached by an official with silver-capped tusks. “It seems you were correct that the one with the scarred arm would fall first,” she complimented. “An impressive prediction considering the odds were in his favor, and you hadn't seen him fight before! I hope you bet a tidy sum.”

When Solar did not answer, T'kicta provided helpfully, “He does not care to gamble.”

“No,” Solar agreed at last, his courteous tone a thin veneer over his discontent. “I like certainties.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you see him?” Luar's voice was low and deceptively casual as they stood just inside the doorway to the vast _kehrite._ Within, teenaged-looking yautja seemed to have just finished a lesson, and were clearing away training equipment under the command of an instructor. “Describe his appearance.”

As Kate inferred the thief was unblooded – she couldn't tell as readily as other yautja could, but he'd seemed young, and simple repair jobs were often performed by older juveniles – they'd gone together to the deck below, where the many _kehrites_ were and where the unbloods lived.

But aside from his youth there was nothing Kate could recall that made him stand out. Average length tress, standard coloring... though there was a knot of students heading their direction now, toward the entrance, and in the middle of the pack was a yautja with wide leather strips around two tress tendrils that sparked her memory.

“That one. Yellow eyes, leather tress wraps. That's him.”

She and the unblood's eyes met across the distance. There was a saunter in his step, his expression remarkably nonchalant, but when he realized she was pointing him out to Luar his features twitched with uncertainty. She wondered if he recognized Luar as an instructor, or was merely putting two and two together about why she was here.

There was no chance for him to elude them, no place for him to veer away. He could only continue on with his group and when Luar's hand closed, friendly and jocular, on the his narrow shoulder, his mandibles tightened and yellow gaze found great interest in the floor.

“Giikon, isn't it? Riikon?”

“Giikon,” he confirmed, as his classmates moved on without him. It was quite a feat, how innocently he replied, having apparently cobbled together his composure in the few seconds Luar spoke. When Luar said nothing further, Kate glanced up; his eyes were on her rather than the unblood, patient and calm. He was waiting on her, and that granted her a flare of confidence.

“You have something that doesn't belong to you.” Her rightful indignation made her yautja as close to perfect as her vocal cords could ever produce, and the pride of it warmed her. “And do not insult us by pretending you don't know of what I speak.”

Giikon's face was all but blank, taut and motionless as he ran through his options. Luar had released his shoulder, but his crossed arms and imposing presence said enough.

“Do you think a warrior would not notice an empty spot on his wall?” Luar joined in at last, his demeanor steady and eyes piercing. “That the theft would not be traced to you?”

“It – it was on impulse,” Giikon finally muttered, wary posture deflating as if he'd been deboned. “I did not premeditate it.”

“Does that matter?” Kate said – partly accusing, partly questioning Luar.

“I am about to undergo _chiva,_ ” the youth faltered. “I thought that if I had more than just the a single _kainde amedha_ skull after I am blooded, it would grant me a... an advantage. With females. Just one skull on a wall would look so... so paltry, do you see?”

As his head lowered deep with deference and defeat, Kate unexpectedly felt sorry for him. Yautja culture was harsh, their expectations rigid. The bar was unbending and set sky high, and your worth questioned if you couldn't reach it.

“Most of us had a time with just one trophy to our name. What sets you apart?” Luar pushed. “Do you think yourself above progressing and advancing as all must?” His line of questioning was stern, his brow drawn together, but his tone was not unduly cruel, Kate noticed, and it surprised her.

Giikon's chin was almost touching his chest now. Kate might have been satisfied with simply having the skull returned, but from the look in Luar's eye, the crime deserved a penalty. She had an idea, but she didn't want to put it out in front of Giikon in case it was stupid, or Luar rejected it.

“Do you speak any English?” she said to him, in English. He considered, as if drawing deep from his memories.

“ _Oui, un peu._ ”

Kate blinked. “What?”

Luar blinked back. “What?”

“Was that... was that _French?_ ”

Luar shrugged. “It is from wherever I visited last on Terra. I spent much time there, and absorbed a small amount of the local tongue. You have many languages on your planet. It seems inefficient.”

“Never mind.” Kate turned back to Giikon, who had lifted his head to watch in both confusion and apprehension.

"I don't like going to the cafeteria alone," she admitted, though she still kept her chin up. "You can come with me. Sit by the _ooman_ pet until her owner comes back."

Giikon looked bewildered, on the verge of scoffing; Luar dubious. "You consider _that_ worthy retribution?"

"Just look at his face," Kate pointed out. There was relief in Giikon's expression - he'd probably been bracing for a beating, or removal from his training, who knows - but also, yes, there it was: dismay. If yautja teenagers were anything like human ones, the mortification of being seen hanging around with an uncool human would indeed be punishment enough. The chance of Kate being hassled in public was rarer these days than it once was, and an unblood wasn't worth much for protection in that regard, but at least she wouldn't be a completely defenseless target. Just visually, for others to see she was not alone. For her own peace of mind. She added, "And maybe you can run errands for me, too. That would be helpful." 

"Very well," Luar capitulated. He seemed unconvinced, but clearly wasn't interested in fighting her on it. "There are classes he must attend, but when he is free, he will be completely at your service until you deem otherwise. Do you accept, Giikon? I suggest you do, as you're not liable to find such a comfortable punishment from anyone else."

"I do," the youth blurted, knowing a good deal when he got one. "My gratitude for your benevolence, _ooman._ Gratitude."

 

 

“Thank you, Luar,” Kate said once they were on the way up to their own deck, carrying the round skull with both hands against her belly. It was no bigger than a football – no doubt why Giikon had chosen it, the better to smuggle it out – but astonishingly heavy. “I don't think he would have relinquished it if I confronted him on my own.”

“Likely not,” Luar said agreeably.

“And I don't think Solar would have been as lenient as we were.”

“I know he would not have been.” Luar's expression was quietly fond as he searched for the right words. “He can be proud, and very steadfast in his principles. That is partly how he earned his honorific.”

“Do you have one?” Aside from Solar, and perhaps T'kicta if he felt like humoring her, she'd yet to meet a yautja she felt she could openly discuss their culture with. Most of what she'd learned had been from the cousins, observation, or her own readings.

“Principles? Of course I do.” He looked almost ruffled. " _Sei,_ I showed clemency to that youth, but it's my belief that unyielding stringency is not suitable for every case – ”

“No, not principles – ” She must have phrased that awkwardly, or used the wrong word, the plural instead of singular. “My pardon for the disrespect, Luar. I meant, do you have an honorific.”

He laughed, apparently not feeling very disrespected. “Ah. I do, in fact. Kalan.”

She waited a beat, then confessed, “I'm sorry, I don't know what that translates to.”

“It is actually a certain piece of now-obsolete battle equipment.” They had reached her rooms, and he relieved her of the skull so she could enter the access code. “A shield. A warrior of great strength held it, and others could take cover behind, leaving them both protected and unencumbered with their hands free for combat.”

Kate hadn't known him very long but somehow, as he strode away down the corridor with easy, comfortable confidence, she found that completely fitting.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Solar and T'kicta had only just retired to their assigned lodging when they received an invitation to Da'dtin's private residence.

“You could do it tonight,” T'kicta immediately suggested. Solar knew what "it" referred to, and his first response was to frown.

“That is the last resort.” Assassination not not appeal to him; did not feel wholly honorable. It was technically a crime, if the victim was innocent of any confirmed wrongdoing. This situation here was a murky area, and yet the scientist was poised to bring disgrace to the clan. Eliminating him would be for the greater good.

“Of course it is,” T'kicta agreed. “But we both know we are achieving little to nothing.”

“We could do everything at once,” Solar said slowly. “While Da'dtin and I are occupied with food and drink and idle talk, he will be paying no attention to whether someone may or may not be sneaking through other parts of his dwelling.”

T'kicta smile was positively merry.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Luar occupied the same emotional place as a ship damaged in some way that left it floating, vagrant and directionless, in space.

If T'kicta had been simply unable to communicate – on a primitive planet that required him to be away from the ship, for example, or in the wilds of space where communication was chancy – his lack of response to Luar's messages (two now) would be understandable, but such a reasoning didn't apply. Had he been harmed? Or simply did not care to converse with Luar?

Gods knew he was overthinking and overreacting. He felt like he'd been struck by a system corruption, a faulty computer program running away with itself. T'kicta was occupied, and that was that.

After some dithering he decided there was no harm in sending a courteous note to Solar.

_I offer my greetings to you, chiva-hswe. I do not have to ask to know you and T'kicta are completing your tasks expeditiously, and trust both you and he are well. I send my regards to him also._

Luar turned his attention back to constructing his next lesson plan, immersing himself fully in thoughts of conditioning regimens, but when his comm-pad pinged softly a little while later his hand shot out with embarrassing eagerness.

_I return your greetings. We have made progress and may return sooner than previously thought. From your having addressed my cousin in a message sent to me, I must deduce that you attempted to contact him and received no response, and thus have discovered his inability to reply to messages in a timely fashion while on an assignment. It is a flaw born of single-minded focus on the task at hand, and not a reflection of his personal feelings regarding contact from you._

Luar let out a rattle of amused disbelief. Even through the sterile medium of text-based communication, Solar was as perceptive as ever. And to his rueful dismay he found himself washed with cool relief, and when he returned to his lesson, he was able to do so with a reasonable amount of attention.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Seated on Da'dtin's expansive, plush couch, eating fine fruits to the drifting sound of music from the streets below the luxurious residence, Solar wished himself anywhere else. A _kainde amedha_ nest, even. At least that was straightforward: kill everything, get out. And he could probably do it in less time than it was taking the scientist to unwind a story about some runt he'd sired that matured better than expected.

How did a scientist come into possession of such lavish accommodations, anyway?

It was not until after Da'dtin's mouth was full once more that Solar could bring the discussion back around to the genetic alterations and his own qualms.

“I think you will come to see what a boon this will be, for both the clan and the individuals,” Da'dtin promised. “We are on the brink of something remarkable, something I have been working on since you were still sap in your father's rod!”

“Forgive my lack of faith,” Solar said, not very penitently. “I was only recently made aware of this situation, and it is important to me to understand all aspects of it.

“I sense your skepticism,” Da'dtin said considerately, “And respect it. My team and I would never go forward with yautja trials unless the clan leader approved it.”

It was more disdain than skepticism, but naturally he wouldn't correct the misinterpretation.

As Da'dtin reached for the wine decanter, the comm on Solar's gauntlet hummed in a sequence he'd programmed to indicate his cousin. Discreetly he read the very concise message: _Entered through upper window. Work station near sleeping chamber - all encoded - no samples or equipment, destroy computers?_

To his credit, T'kicta had not made a sound.

“I am merely trying to be fully informed,” Solar said, eyes flicking from the words back up to Da'dtin. “How can we guarantee that successful trials on lower life forms will translate to success for ourselves?”

“We cannot,” came the simple reply. “We can only conduct every test and trial conceivable, which we have, and begin with a modest gene alteration, which we will, and mitigate the risks as best we can.

He sounded so sure. So unbothered. So unable to be swayed. He was older, with graying tress and quills, and was half a head shorter than Solar, but his frame was sturdy and his body still robust.

He'd be a challenge to kill. That made Solar feel better about it.

“I will be upfront, and tell you that I find you to be an ideal specimen.” Da'dtin didn't wait for a response before continuing, “The choice of candidate for this initial trial is not entirely up to me, but I would be glad to put forth your name.”

Solar kept his face carefully neutral. Da'dtin wanted him to subject _himself_ to modification?

He had not spent half his life training for whatever this situation was.

He sidestepped the direct proposition. “Why alter the ideal?” he said, infusing his tone with a lightness that earned him a chuckle.

“We prefer the term enhancement,” Da'dtin corrected. “And it cannot build a warrior from scratch. A fine house needs a strong foundation, does it not?”

“A fair analogy. But I cannot consent to treatment unless I know what constitutes it.” Solar maintained eye contact, to create the illusion of trust. To mask the lie that he would ever so much as consider the offer. “I understand your protectiveness of your research, but I'm sure you in turn see how few would take such a drastic and permanent step without being completely informed.”

“They might if they saw the results first,” he said smugly.

“Not I.” Solar's reiteration was calm, but firm. “My gratitude for your compliments, but I must refuse your offer.”

Da'dtin's eyes narrowed with a heavy dose of disappointment and a dash of scorn. “I cannot imagine your reasoning.”

“Nor can I imagine yours. What honor is there giving yourself in artificial advantage?”

“We equip ourselves with weaponry and equipment, do we not?” Da'dtin argued. “Tell me, what is the difference between that which we hold in our hands and strap to our bodies, and that which we might carry with us _in_ our bodies?”

“Everything about it is dishonest and false. To introduce it to the populace at large would taint everything we value." Solar heard the strain in his own rebuttal. "Why bother to push yourself to excel if you can merely submit to a physician's hand to gain it without effort? If you cannot achieve victory on your own merits, you do not deserve it.”

“I did not take you for a fool, but appearances can be deceiving.” Da'dtin's amiable demeanor had become twisted and ugly.

“I would strongly encourage you to forgo this avenue of scientific inquiry,” Solar said coolly. He would not allow this degenerate to get the best of his temper. “I say this as both warning and threat, and I will not repeat it.”

Da'dtin rose, chest puffed out with self-assurance, and laughed. “Things have been put in motion that cannot be stopped. This is happening, my friend, whether the clan leader approves or not.”

As he turned away, Solar reached for the dagger in his greaves; paused.

“I am going to take your research now.”

Da'dtin wheeled, baffled, like he thought he'd misheard. “Explain yourself.”

“Your project is abhorrent to all dignity and honor and I am going to remove it from you.” Solar stood. “I considered slaying you just now, but I think I can accomplish the same ends without doing so. That is up to you to some degree, though, so I would recommend not trying to fight me.”

Da'dtin tried. He may have retained some youthful strength, but time spent indoors in a laboratory left him slow and out of practice.

"Tkicta," Solar called as he stepped over the scientist's body. The name echoed off the high ceilings. "You are clear to come out."

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I thought you said you killed him.” T'kicta peered down at Da'dtin's comatose body. The scientist made a strained whistling as he breathed; if the blow Solar delivered to his larynx hadn't done it, being choked into unconsciousness no doubt did.

“I said nothing of the sort. I said you were clear to come out.”

“Is there a reason you didn't kill him?” T'kicta posited, as he led Solar to the work station and began dismantling the computer console. “As our Leader permitted and as you seemed to want to?”

“Listen to me, cousin. This is not something you and I can do. This problem is too pervasive, too big for us to solve alone.” Solar's attempt to pry open a piece of hardware failed, so he relinquished it to T'kicta and his compact toolkit. “I could have dispatched him, yes – but I do not have the confirmation I need to serve as judge and jury for his life. And what would it accomplish?”

The hardware casing separated and T'kicta reached for the data disk inside, processing Solar's words and continuing along the same line of thinking.

“If there is a yautja who's already undergone modification," he concluded, "Not only do we have no evidence, as you said, but there is we can do nothing about it. And the altered genetics that run in his veins are all they need to start again.”

“What you say is true. We can retrieve what is here, then proceed to the laboratory and do the same, and no, it will not stop them – ”

“But they will be hampered,” T'kicta finished for him. Rather than a structured case, he had brought a worn out sack – he must have picked it up at some market. A smart choice to avoid suspicion. “Perhaps set back their research. And the information we obtain will grant us deeper information into the exact nature of what they are doing.”

“If we cannot eradicate them, let us at least cut them off at the knees.”

They cleared the dwelling with swift efficiency, destroying computers and taking with them the vital holo disks and any smaller pieces they were not certain they'd damaged beyond repair. The data was likely backed up in more than one place, but given how secretive the project was, there was a chance that in destroying both the private files here and those at the laboratory, it would deliver the scientific team a hefty blow.

“Before we leave," Solar reminded, "We need to locate his credentials so we can enter the facility – ”

T'kicta smiled blithely and held up an access chip between two fingers. “Something like this?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

From the piloting bay of Luar's parked ship, Kate was afforded a view of the clanship's main hangar. From relative privacy she could watch the comings and going: individual yautja working on personal craft or refueling for journeys, technicians maintaining clan shuttles, the faint shimmer of the electromagnetic field that protected the hangar from open space. The ships varied in size, design, and personal customization but the overall dominant shape was sleek and aquatic, all of them parked together reminiscent of a school of silvery catfish.

In the yautja-sized passenger seat her feet were just shy of touching the floor and she tucked one under herself, idly swinging the other back and forth. She found herself at ease in a way she normally wasn't outside of her and Solar's rooms. Luar was still alien, but it was as Solar had said: he was not so severe as the other yautja, and though his manner could be blunt it could also be unexpectedly jovial and attentive. She didn't feel the need to speak as formally with him as she had at first, and was taken aback – positively so – when he expressed curiosity about how humans did things on Earth.

He stood now in one of the open floor compartments of the ship, only his ponytailed head visible, laughing as she regaled him with the story of her and T'kicta's first meeting.

“So you would never consider that? Another male?” Luar said once his amusement subsided, referring to T'kicta's suggestion she have sex with him as well as Solar.

“No, that's – that's uncommon for humans.”

“It's uncommon for humans to live among yautja, and yet...” He gestured to her with a device that looked like some kind of motorized wrench.

“Fair enough,” she said to herself in English. Switching back to yautja, she went on, “Personally, though, I wouldn't want more than one partner.”

He made a sound of agreement. “It is the other way around for us. Monogamy is the exception. Yet I share your views.”

“You do? Haven't you been with a different female every night since you got here?”

Now it was his turn to chuckle in surrender. “'Fair enough,'” he repeated, mimicking her. “But... I am coming to see that it is not my preference. I have been bedding many in hopes of finding one I might wish to partner with.”

“Any luck so far?”

His face took on an introspective cast.

“I tire of searching,” he declared, without having really answered her question. “From now on I will take a break from mating.” His eyes grew knowing. “There are limits even to my stamina.”

She reddened, but couldn't help the grin that tugged at her mouth.

“My _chiva_ brother cares for you very much.” Luar's tone was straightforward, but she would've sworn she heard a sort of melancholy envy in it. He was not as reserved as other yautja with expression of emotions. Or maybe she'd only imagined it. “I can see it.”

His eyes fixed on her longer than seemed normal, narrowing – but he was looking past her, she realized, out the front view-screen. She turned to see a small gray ship approaching, coasting through the electromagnetic field then slowing, hovering, and landing neatly in a slot opposite them.

The ship's standard simplicity designated it as one owned by the clan, rather than a personal craft, issued to personnel on clan-related business. It could be anybody, but Luar seemed to know it, and, palms braced on the floor, pulled himself up and out of the compartment.

“Come,” he said, tossing his grimy rag over his shoulder. “Their arrival is sudden... but need I tell you who is here?”

Outside, as he descended the ramp from his ship's open hatch, Luar watched the _ooman_ woman go ahead of him. She was a curiosity, and what had developed between her and his old friend was unforeseen but utterly fascinating. He had never conversed with her kind before and of course he couldn't generalize them on the whole, but he found this one to be personable and unassuming, and he was as surprised at how quickly she warmed to him as he to her.

Across the gap, the newly arrived ship's hatch unsealed with a hiss, rising up like a wing to reveal Solar framed in the doorway. This model of ship rolled out a steep series of steps from the hatch rather than a ramp, and before the bottom step was even level with the ground he was proceeding down them. His demeanor was calm, and Luar suspected that if pressed on matters of the heart he would demur, but what he'd just said to Kate was true: he knew his _hswe-chiva_ well, and recognized the quiet but intense feeling he bore for his unexpected companion.

Yautja and human embraced, his body curving over her small one, hands large on her waist. The top of her head did not even reach his jaw, and though her face was pressed into his chest, away from Luar, and he could not see her expression, her body language said enough. He'd never known Solar to be prone to such open demonstrations of affection, but it did his heart good to see it; and though for a moment he worried for the indiscretion, Solar must be used to taking precautions, and there was no one currently in their line of sight.

It was then that a second figure appeared at the top of the steps – and Luar felt an odd start in his stomach, as if there'd been a brief malfunction in artificial gravity, though the state of the surrounding objects told him that was not the case.

T'kicta came down the steps, skipping over the last one, not noticing Luar in the ship's shadow yet. From his neck, a long pendant on a beaded cord swung. Luar had never seen him in formalwear, and clearly parts of the ensemble had been divested of on the journey, but what remained aside from the necklace were finely tooled leather sandals, the ties criss-crossing up his calves, and a short woven kilt of deep rusty orange. Luar wondered what the rest had looked like.

T'kicta said something brief to his cousin, then to Kate – the latter laughed – and then his eyes flicked past them. His features did not alter, and for a moment Luar was uncertain if he'd seen him, or if he cared to acknowledge him at all, after all he had not responded to any of his messages, perhaps Solar had been wrong about T'kicta not replying to messages on missions and it was indeed a personal rebuff –

And then T'kicta smiled, his features sunny and serene, and with his usual sprightly stride he crossed the space between them.

Luar gestured at his stylish garb. “Have you been to the homeworld, Kiki, or a pleasure planet?”

T'kicta smiled, and they closed the gap completely, clapping each other on the shoulders and embracing as good friends did. Though with a friend Luar never cared to linger, nor spread his palms over his back, or turned his face into his neck a little where it still smelled faintly of home, all rich aromatic earth and a vibrant pulse and a greeting trill in his throat. A buckle on T'kicta's satchel strap was pressing hard into his arm, tress tips tickling his cheek, and Luar could feel the energy in T'kicta's body coiled up from confinement on the small vessel.

 

 

“You will understand once I explain,” T'kicta began in a torrent of words, pushing back at last; but not too far. “Though I was not meant to discuss the details of my mission before embarking on it, I could not resist telling you anyway, but your foul mood prevented me from doing so and – ”

“You have my pardon for that,” Luar interrupted. “Our last words before our parting were regrettable – ”

“ – and thus you inadvertently ensured I kept my word.” T'kicta grinned, chest swelling complacently. His eyes were as green as new leaves. “And now I can share everything without fear of indiscretion. I know you have only recently left Yautja Prime, so if you've heard the rumors already and have robbed me of the pleasure of informing you of every detail myself, I will be very angry.”

Luar felt very much like something inside him was about to burst. “I can pretend it is my first time hearing it,” Luar managed. “Will you tell it all to me over drinks?”

“My gratitude for your indulgence.” T'kicta switched his heavy satchel from one shoulder to the other. “Are you including meals in that offer? I could eat an entire rynth, and and you know how stringy they are. Allow me to divest myself of my equipment?”

His brows lifted in anticipation of Luar's reply.

 _Anything you want,_ Luar nearly said. Instead he released a long breath. “As much time as you need.”

“Are you working on something?” T'kicta tipped his chin at the greasy rag tossed over Luar's shoulder.

“I am not an engineer, but I think the plasma transvertor is bad – ”

“Let me see it.” T'kicta pushed past him to his ship, dropping his bag at the base of the ramp and ascending it in two long-limbed strides. Luar followed, entering just in time to see T'kicta hop down into the open floor compartment without a care for his fine kilt. In another situation, Luar might have explained the issue in further detail, and described the repair he was attempting, and how he probably didn't need any help... but now, he was content to watch T'kicta's eyes flick over the exposed systems and tubing, one hand hovering by his face, as if poised for action.

“Can you give me a wire-cutter?”

Luar reached for his supply box, and pressed the tool into T'kicta's waiting hand. “Anything you want.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The lounge was crowded, for reasons unknown to either of them. Luar and T'kicta sat together at the long trestle table in the middle of the room, stools jostled by other patrons coming to and from the nearby alcohol taps, their heads close together so they could hear each other's conversation. T'kicta drank from his tankard as if parched, the contents swiftly brightening his eyes (not that he needed any help with that) and loosening his tongue (or that) as he described his absence in extensive detail.

“Clearing the laboratory was astonishingly easy once we had the access chip.” T'kicta's mandibles all but brushed Luar's jaw as he leaned in to be heard. “There was no one there so late at night, which was useful not just so we could accomplish our task without complication but because I think my cousin preferred not to kill outside of a combat situation. He would have if necessary, though, considering how he railed against this genetic modification – ”

“Him? Voice raised?” Luar interrupted. T'kicta nodded enthusiastically, tress swinging, his confirmation of such atypical behavior underlining the degree of Solar's wrath. “I don't think I have ever heard him rail against anything.”

“Exactly. So we took what we could from the facility, and destroyed everything else, and went straight to our ship without stopping and were out of the atmosphere before – ”

At that moment a statuesque female passing by the table paused, eyes glimmering like copper coins as she halted by Luar's stool.

“I recognize you from your coloring.” Her announcement was sultry both in natural vocal quality and in mood. She would've been taller than Luar anyway, but with him sitting, she all but loomed. “You are the one with the knot.”

T'kicta choked on his drink.

“Luar-thwei,” Luar said, polite but level, as T'kicta turned away to mask his muffled sputtering. He had a name, not just an unusual anatomical feature.

The female bent, placing one hand on the table beside Luar's. “What are your plans for tonight, Luar-thwei?”

“I am very busy.”

She shrugged, as if to say, what a shame. “And the next?”

“Also occupied.”

T'kicta was still coughing faintly, face hidden in his tankard.

The female's gaze was skeptical and sharp, but Luar held it. With a graceful, sturdy frame and tresses glossy with perfumed oil, she was attractive – he could admit that. But he found himself lacking any real physical desire. He was no breeding stud, available for anyone who wished for his services. She could push the issue, if she really wanted him, but he in turn could say no; and, in a tactful way, had.

“If you say so,” she concluded at last. She straightened and, after scrutinizing him as if waiting for him to rethink his rejection, moved past in the direction she was originally heading.

T'kicta's eyes were like plates. “Do you know who that was?”

“Should I? It would not matter anyway – ”

“You're as dense as a rock!” T'kicta lamented, gesticulating. “She is sister to the clan leader. From what I hear, not a single one of her offspring have failed _chiva._ ”

“She is well formed,” Luar admitted, though he found he had no real desire to turn for a second look.

“If you go after her – ”

“I said it would not matter,” Luar repeated. “I am finished with all that.”

The finality in his own unplanned pronouncement surprised even him. T'kicta blinked, brows knitting in bemusement. “Finished with...?

“Perhaps I spoke in haste,” Luar amended. “But... I tire of this, Kiki. Of female after female, each all but forgetting my name as soon as their chamber door closes behind me. It is hollow, and leaves me feeling so.”

From the expression on T'kicta's face, Luar might well have been speaking another language. But T'kicta offered no argument, or vocalization of disbelief, only sat quietly and listened with his forehead creased.

Luar pushed on, unable to stop now. “And what is it for? What does it earn me? A night of physical pleasure and a few more pups I have no hand in raising? Not trust, not true intimacy, I can tell you that much. Does the number of willing bodies I couple with reflect upon my honor, my merit? I may as well be a mindless beast chasing a tidbit on a lure.”

T'kicta digested the outpouring of emotion while Luar finished off his drink with a long and sullen gulp, too long, enough to make him lightheaded for lack of air.

“What are you saying?” T'kicta ventured at last. “That you wish to seek monogamy again?”

“If that is what is required for companionship, and genuine affection, and a true bond... then yes.” He turned his empty tankard over in his hand, peering into the dregs as if it held answers. “I suppose I am.”

T'kicta thought about that, then shrugged encouragingly. “See now how inadequate you have made me feel,” he teased, trying to help in the most familiar way he knew, by lightening the mood. “Are you and I not companions, Luar?”

As soon as the words were out, and it occurred to him how they sounded within the context of the conversation, he startled – almost to himself – then laughed. “That's not – I only intended to say – ”

“I know what you intended to say,” Luar assured him wearily, clapping him on the shoulder as he rose to refill his tankard. But as he did he observed, from the corner of his eye, T'kicta's handsome features suffused with mossy green. Such a physical reaction was not visible on everybody, given differences in coloration. When was the last time Luar made someone blush?

“I changed my mind,” he announced suddenly. He had not felt restless before but he did now, irritated by the voices and movement from the throng around him. “I don't care to drink any longer. And perhaps you want to rest from your travels.”

T'kicta leaped to his feet as if on a spring. “I have done nothing but sit in a shuttle,” he said dismissively. “What do I need to rest from?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It took them time to find a _kehrite_ with a free mat, but when they did T'kicta threw himself into the spar with all the energy pent up after cycles upon cycles of playing polite, of watching and waiting and strategizing, of all-consuming concentration. This is how he felt best, felt free - running, leaping, moving. Fast breath, dodging blows, footwork like a dance. He sensed this affair with the genetic alteration was not quite over, and yet for the time being, it was not his concern.

Luar seemed distracted as they tussled and fought, only barely fending him off, and as he spun away to recover after a jab to the side T'kicta couldn't resist giving his crest a taunting flick.

“Are you going easy on me?”

The teasing sparked a shift in mood and Luar whirled and barreled into him, knocking the wind out of him with a shoulder to the gut and slamming him flat on his back. T'kicta gasped for air as he lay reeling, smacking Luar's back more in exasperation than a genuine attempt to resist.

“ _C'jit!_ ” he swore, pitching his hips up in a violent but futile attempt to dislodge Luar. “Kindly toss me under a docking cargo ship next time, it wouldn't hurt as much.”

As Luar moved up to secure him even further beneath him his tress made a curtain on either side of T'kicta's face. He butted them away with his head, flipping one up and over Luar's shoulder.

“ _H'chak,_ ” he sighed dramatically. His hands curved over Luar's biceps. “I yield to your mercy.”

He was vaguely aware that Luar should be accepting his surrender and rising off him, but he wasn't, and it felt somehow both irrelevant and very important. Luar's eyes were intent, and he seemed to compress T'kicta further and further with each breath. His body quills pricked; his thighs were a vise. T'kicta watched the dark-spotted backs of his own hands drifting down over the cinnamon brown of Luar's forearms.

“You are crushing me.” It sounded less like a complaint and more like idle commentary. “What do you weigh, have you been paying too many visits to the cafeteria while I was gone – ”

Luar kissed him.

T'kicta's body went absolutely rigid.

Every fiber and filament in Luar's body sang. A faint groan of – pleasure? relief? – rose in his throat as his tongue touched T'kicta's soft inner mouth. He tasted crisp and good, _so right,_ his ribcage expanding beneath Luar's palm as he at last had to inhale. His pulse raced beneath Luar's touch and Luar gripped harder as if doing so would let him feel deeper, _know_ deeper, twine his fingers with the veins carrying his life force, be _inside_ him...

A flicker of dread now, cold and insidious, when Luar realized T'kicta was not responding.

He pulled back.

T'kicta was very still, mandibles parted from where Luar had locked them with his own. His eyes were large with shock and, other than that sole emotion, indecipherable. Strange... until now he had always worn his thoughts on his face...

He rolled off. T'kicta sucked a deep and grateful lungful as the weight was removed. Luar paused, watching T'kicta's eyes follow him, waiting for... he didn't know. But it didn't come.

Luar rose, striding somewhat unsteadily to the opposite corner of the mat. He stared downward at the dense material compressing under his feet. In his peripheral vision he could see T'kicta pushing up on his elbows but he said nothing, _did_ nothing, and when Luar chanced a backwards look T'kicta's features were as unreadable as a bio-mask.

“My gratitude for the match.” His voice was formal and breathless, heart pounding, as if they'd been sparring for an hour instead of ten minutes. “T'kicta, I did not... if I...”

Luar abandoned the attempt at speech, and all but knocked someone in his path out of the way as, cowardly or not, he fled.

 

 

* * *

 


	4. A Sky Full of Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that I'm kehrite on Tumblr, always down to chat!

* * *

 

 

As Luar disappeared into the attached bathhouse T'kicta got to his own feet; carefully, as if unsure of the ground's stability. Nobody around noticed the private drama playing out – well, of course they wouldn't. It had been brief, really – though it had felt very much the opposite.

Luar's retreat was a sudden exception to his open and direct character. If something upset him, he took no pains to repress it. What a depth of feeling he now carried, then, to behave in a manner so opposed to his nature.

T'kicta could still taste him on his tongue.

With a huff of some unidentified emotion he relinquished the platform to a pair of juveniles waiting on a bench for an open spot.

He could abandon his clothing and return straight to his rooms, barefoot and all. The idea was oddly appealing: it would be very simple, and spare him from a delicate confrontation. But it would also be only procrastination, a temporary extension. And it was cowardly. And it would hurt Luar. And _pauk,_ he needed to know more, to fully understand, not just Luar but himself...

His feet took him in an odd zig-zag – first to the exit, then toward the bathhouse, then back to the exit and at last through the bathhouse doors. He braced himself, though for what he was not sure – perhaps the weight of Luar's wounded stare, the stilted conversation, how it made him muddled and gridlocked inside...

Humidity engulfed him, and he paused as his vision adjusted to the dim light. The floor was pebbled and damp beneath his feet as he passed between pools, steam curling around pillars and over his ankles, and glanced to and fro for that distinctive crest. This was one of the few places aboard where open flame was permitted and the pool-side torches cast an orange glow over the misty pools.

A semi-transparent partition separated the pools from the overhead showering area, and after T'kicta had done a circuit of the room, he concluded this was the only place left Luar could be.

And he was. Still damp from what must have been a very quick and perfunctory shower. There was a visible change in his posture when he saw T'kicta from his peripheral vision and his hand stilled for a moment on his loincloth ties, before completing his task and squaring his shoulders.

“If I misinterpreted,” Luar said formally, finishing what he'd begun in the _kehrite._ “If I thought that you and I... then I ask your pardon, T'kicta.”

It had become uncommon for Luar to use his full name. The raspy tone in which he said it was the kind reserved for a speech before a battle with insurmountable odds, or an accused criminal addressing a high council, as raspy and as serious as the grave.

T'kicta was discomfited by the poorly concealed emotion in Luar's golden gaze, by the rapid rise and fall of his broad chest. Tension hung heavy in the air like electricity before a storm – constricting the lungs, near-painful on the skin. Skittering uncertainty coiled around T'kicta's throat.

“Don't speak to me that way,” he said suddenly.

Luar was already stiffly turning away. “What way?”

“As if I am a stranger.”

The downward cast of Luar's gaze was weary. “You could never be that to me.”

T'kicta reached for him, catching him by his spiked elbow. “We aren't finished talking.”

Luar started at the touch. “Aren't we? Do you have something else that needs saying?”

T'kicta floundered, his thought process trapped in a crackling standstill like a glitching computer program. From the other side of the partition two someones conversed as they passed by, the torches casting shadows through the hazy glass, but they continued on without coming around to the showers.

Unlike his cousin, whose frequent silence masked a silver tongue, T'kicta was not good with words. Often even in the privacy of his own head he could not put a name to whatever things he felt. This was one of those times. Something akin to a supernova was expanding inside him, white-hot and burning and indescribable, something for which he had no vocabulary.

He opened his mouth, though he had nothing to offer. No; that was not true. He may have no poetry to spin, but he had much to say.

He grabbed Luar's waist and kissed him.

The low and plaintive noise Luar made ran over both their tongues. His hips surged forward into T'kicta's hands, returning the kiss with the hard urgency of the parched finding a desert oasis. The pound of his heart matched T'kicta's as their bodies came together, things long unspoken pouring free and cool as rain; and when Luar at last broke away they found their foreheads pressing together, breath mingling, in no hurry to separate.

It took effort but T'kicta made his eyes open. Luar's intensity had melted like a sand dune washed to soft edges by the wind, his expression heavy-lidded and content. T'kicta's blood throbbed through him and felt he must say something or else he might burst.

“You... I...”

With two clawed fingertips Luar tucked T'kicta's mandibles gently closed. His own breathing was ragged – it was not often he was anything other than self-assured, at least to a casual observer – and he held tight to T'kicta as if to a more-than-willing life preserver.

“Tell me in private.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Through the viewport in Luar's room, the expanse of space was as inky black as ever, but in the far distance a streak of interstellar dust radiated a gentle glow. It only just enough to see by as T'kicta and Luar tumbled uncoordinated into bed, rolling, panting, winding up with the former astride the latter's lap.

“Kiki," Luar said into his mouth, his neck, his tress; the two simple syllables breathless, beseeching. There was an urgency in the movements of his hands, fingers slotting over T'kicta's ribs like puzzle pieces and pulling their chests flush together. Luar's belt rubbed the underside of T'kicta's sheath, and though the stimulation was tantalizing he felt trapped by his loincloth.

“Luar – stop,” he said, wriggling. “I need to...”

He rose up a little, knees on either side of Luar's hips, untying the garment and tossing it aside. Luar's eyes were heavy, roving over his now-nude form as if he hadn't seen it already. But that had been different. They had been only friends before, with nothing else between them. No... that was not true. That “something else” was always there, just under the surface, a riptide easily overlooked until it came at last to explode in foaming waves on the shore.

Without a word Luar dragged his palm over the sheath – the cartilage twitched from the pressure of T'kicta's stiffening cock beneath – and let out an unsteady sigh and pulled their foreheads together. At the touch the curving seam of T'kicta's sheath drew back and his cock slipped into Luar's waiting hand. Luar's golden eyes fluttered, tentative and preoccupied and aroused. T'kicta was riveted by the expression as he hardened further, Luar closing his hand fully around him finger by finger.

But then Luar drew back a bit, absorbing the very generous dimensions of the organ before him, as if it was both the most intimidating and splendid thing he had ever seen.

“Gods, Kiki.”

There were a number of boastful things T'kicta could say regarding his size, or about Luar's hushed and fervent tone, but he merely laughed. The tail end of the sound shot up into a higher pitch as Luar's thumb passed over the wet slit of his cock's head.

“Do you know how long – ” Luar muttered, leaning forward into him once more. “How long I wondered if what you claimed about that was true...”

"I am wounded that you doubted me." 

Gently, almost experimentally, he dragged one claw down the underside's ridges. T'kicta yelped, pleasure spiking through him, and Luar startled.

“Did that hurt? My pardon, I – ”

“ _No,_ it did not _hurt,_ ” T'kicta growled. He flexed his hips up sharp and hard when Luar's loose fist slid down the shaft – provoked by instinct, by desire, by the carnal greed in Luar's features. Luar's free hand was tight on his waist, and his own were making claw divots on Luar's shoulders – he thrust up again, panting now, popping the scalloped rim of his cock head in and out of Luar's large and tightening grip.

Luar was gazing up at him like a worshiper at a holy shrine. T'kicta hadn't known anybody could look at anyone else like that – and then all at once he was coming, able to make only a strangled moan as all the tension and longing and pent-up want pulsed over that warm and eager hand.

When T'kicta descended from his climax he looked down between them to see opalescent fluid trickling over Luar's spiked knuckles. Luar's eyes were only slits of languorous gold, and after a cursory swipe of his hand on the bedding he caught T'kicta around the waist and rolled him onto his back.

T'kicta let his eyes close and his body soften into the mattress. Spangles and spots drifted across the black of his vision as he heard Luar stand; armor clicked, fabric rustled to the floor, and then the bed creaked once more under Luar's weight. He released a sigh and looked up to see Luar kneeling beside him, hands loose on his thighs and stare smoky with yearning. T'kicta's gaze traveled over his powerful pectorals, the rich browns and cream of his patterning, along the path of quills pointing down towards –

“You _do_ have a knot! I thought that was mere rumor!”

Luar's response was to grimace almost sheepishly.

T'kicta had wondered once or twice before, out of detached curiosity, how it might feel to be on the receiving end of penetration. Females obviously liked it. And males who had sex with each other would not do so unless it was pleasurable. But now, face to face with the instrument in question, flaring lust was doused by the first pang of uncertainty. Luar's face carried a trace of the same as he gauged T'kicta's reaction.

“Do you trust me?” Luar finally ventured. He shifted, sliding a knee between T'kicta's, thigh pressing against his cock, sensitive from orgasm but still hard. “Do not worry about the knot. You do not have to – that is, not this first time – ”

T'kicta bridled, pushing up on one elbow. “What, you think I – I can't?”

Luar vacillated, not wishing to feed into the indignation. “That was not meant as a slight or a challenge. It's only that even experienced partners sometimes – ”

“Shut up.”

Luar obliged, burying his face in T'kicta's neck and inhaling the warm grassy scent of him; his mouth tasted much the same. It seemed that mere moments ago Luar had been on top of him just like this in the _kehrite_ , overwhelmed and in turmoil, thinking that if he could not have Kiki some part of him would wither and die. Now he ached, trembling with the restraint of not burying himself deep then and there, but such haste would serve them both poorly.

He let his cock drag over the ridges of T'kicta's stomach, just for something to rut against, swearing at the wet firmness of their cocks sliding parallel. The thighs tightening around his and arms snaking over his back left him more light-headed than any intoxicant could have, and his hips stuttered harshly forward, needing to be closer, to entwine until neither could tell where one ended and the other began.

He settled fully onto T'kicta, groaning, kissing him with an incomparable blend of desperation and relief. His cock twitched at the ready passion with which T'kicta kissed him back – with a touch that was hard and possessive, claws scraping down Luar's shoulder blades, tongues curling together. Not merely accepting him – T'kicta _wanted_ him. It was enough to make him dizzy.

Was it too bold to tell him he loved him? Did it matter?

Luar kissed the hollow above his collarbone. Though he did not mean to say it, without intending to the words rushed out like water through a broken dam.

T'kicta's restless movements stilled. “What was that?” came his low voice, warm on Luar's neck.

“I – I said – ”

“I know what you said. But... do you _mean_ it?”

“Do you think I would say it if I didn't? Do you not already know I – ”

“Tell me again.”

A helpless sound swelled inside Luar and he repeated it a second time, a third, feverish into T'kicta's throat. “I love you, I love you so much I do not even remember when I started – ”

His hands skidded down the taper of T'kicta's waist to his taut ass and hauled his hips off the bed to collide with his own. Luar's cock caught behind the mound of his sheath and he swore, guttural and rough.

“Yes – yes,” came T'kicta's fierce and breathless confirmation. There was trepidation in his expression, but his eyes flashed and his inhale was sharp as Luar covered him again, cupping his jaw and bringing their foreheads together once more.

“Do you trust me?” Luar asked again. He needed to hear it.

“I do.”

No more than a fraction of the way into T'kicta's slick entrance and Luar had to pause, breath hitching, for fear he might come already like an eager virgin. T'kicta's eyes were half-closed in a precarious concentration, and Luar watched for any indication of discomfort as he resumed his steady push in.

“There, easy now.” Feeling T'kicta's tension Luar murmured whatever came into his head: encouragement, endearments. “Take a breath. _Sei, sei,_ relax...”

T'kicta's mandibles, which had gritted closed when Luar breached him, were parting now. His brow creased as he adjusted to the sensation and a tremulous noise escaped him, a noise that made Luar's cock twitch inside which prompted another faint sound; and then with a last hitch forward he was fully seated, knot still outside but snug between their bodies.

Every nerve in him was a live wire but he steeled himself not to move just yet. T'kicta's gaze was unfocused and dark and when he shifted experimentally Luar hissed, resisting the instinct to respond. Just as he let his head bow onto the pillow T'kicta canted up into him, palms pressing on his back, and a covetous snarl rumbled behind Luar's sternum.

Luar kept hold of T'kicta's hip with one hand and slid his other into his short tress, allowing himself at last to draw back, just a little, then to thrust in again. His thumb slipped into the valley between T'kicta's hipbone and the arrowing line of abdominal muscle and as T'kicta flexed up in response to the touch Luar grunted, ramping up his pace. Sinking into his arms was both dizzying and surreal, like yet another passing reverie – but no, the vivid green eyes and hard angles and athletic frame beneath him were all too real.

But there was still some ambivalence in those eyes, a shadow of indecision, and so Luar slid his hand beneath T'kicta's hips and rotated slightly to improve the angle.

“Like this, _da'qinna,_ ” he muttered, grasping T'kicta's outer thigh. In reaction to the next thrust T'kicta said nothing aloud, but his pupils dilated, and his muscles jumped as if he were about to come off the bed.

Overcome, Luar ground his pelvis in more forcefully, and on the outward drag T'kicta let out a soft but devastating vocalization that could only be described as a whimper. Flooded by near-feral arousal Luar drove in with all his weight, growling, then again and again, drunk on the catlike arch of T'kicta's body and the sublime sounds he was making now. T'kicta's features were sensual and unstudied, claws raking over the rows of blunt spikes on Luar's back to draw him into a quickening rhythm. Then he tilted his hips just so, and without warning Luar sank in completely to the hilt.

As the knot popped in Luar gasped, seeing stars; the arm he'd been bracing on buckled, and he immediately gathered T'kicta against him. The lean body in his embrace had gone rigid and still, and Luar thought distantly that maybe he should remind him to breathe; but at last he did, in a long deep shudder, and Luar was lost. There was only Kiki, and the mounting delirium of pleasure, each tiny movement spiraling him higher and tighter.

Then with a visceral roar he slammed his hips deep, and T'kicta let out a paralyzed whine, and Luar's climax was wrenched from him – knot throbbing, all-consuming, blinded with white-hot ecstasy and teeth clamped together so hard it hurt.

It might have been eons that Luar lay there, somewhere just shy of consciousness. But as soon as he returned to himself he rolled weakly onto his side, keeping T'kicta to him, so they lay face to face. When he withdrew T'kicta winced, almost imperceptibly, and Luar kissed him with a low and sonorous purr.

“Are you alright?”

T'kicta dwelled on that, but despite any soreness his gaze was clear and content. As he shifted he made an odd face. With a sigh of resignation he said, voice raspy, “You come a lot.”

Luar blinked. “That's what you have to say after – all that?” Then he let out a rolling guffaw of laughter. “But it is a flaw I will concede to.”

One of Luar's tresses had gotten hooked awry on his crest and T'kicta reached up, freeing it to fall back into position. It was a mundane gesture, especially after what had just occurred, and yet Luar's insides gave a fluttery little jolt – the same as when he'd first come to the clanship, and gone to the lounge in search of ale and socialization, and instead looked up to that balcony and found T'kicta there like a handsome, bright-eyed, impudent and utterly irresistible star.

“Are you sure you are well?” he pressed.

“It was... good, if that's what you really intend to ask.” T'kicta's eyes glimmered. “I am a poor liar, remember?”

Luar kissed him again, hard, which was returned in kind. “I have a private washroom. Do you want a shower?”

T'kicta's forehead wrinkled. “I think that is a matter of necessity more than want.”

“I will try not to be insulted.”

“I said no such thing. Do not put words in my mouth.”

“How about other things?”

That resulted in a slow blink, then a flinch and an exasperated groan, and T'kicta rolled away and turned his face into the pillow. But when Luar wrapped his arms around him from behind there was no resistance. T'kicta let out a muffled trill, and held onto Luar's forearms, and Luar purred like an engine into the back of his neck.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Solar reclined on the couch with his comm pad on the low table in front of him. It projected a holo keyboard upward in front of him, leaving leaving his lap conveniently free for Kate's head to rest while he typed and manipulated the red glyphs in midair.

“I missed you,” she admitted. And worried about him, as usual. Though she didn't say that part.

His champagne eyes were tinted rose gold by the keyboard suspended in front of him. “And... I you.”

“You sound surprised.”

“When I am away, I keep my focus on my task, and my task in turn keeps me fully mentally occupied. But I remembered your desire to visit Yautja Prime, and found myself seeing it anew as if through your eyes.”

“So were you not busy, then?”

“I was. But this required more subtlety and... 'downtime,' as you say.”

With his mission complete, he'd been free to explain the nature of it to her. The data disks he and T'kicta had stolen (though he'd preferred the word “confiscated”) were so heavily encrypted he couldn't access them his ship's computer, and had presented them to the clan leader knowing nothing of the contents other than their connection to the genetic modification project.

Explaining the project to her was one of the few times she'd ever seen him truly incensed. The heat of it seemed to have cooled on the return journey, but only to a simmer, his disdain for the concept of genetic modification still fully palpable. She supposed that for a race that valued their traditions and principles so deeply and, to be frank, thought so highly of itself, there would naturally be some backlash against anything seen to threaten that orthodoxy. Solar was patient, particularly for a yautja, but not with anything that flouted his code of honor.

“I bet T'kicta enjoyed himself,” she ventured after a time. “What with the sporting events, dinners, that sort of thing...”

Solar took his time responding. “Not as much as you might think. He is not very patient, which I'm sure does not surprise you, and so he did not care for the waiting, or the duplicity, and the political finesse this visit called for; even less so than myself.” He paused again, typed more, then stopped. One mandible tapped. “There have been times in the past when I underestimated him. When I felt he was not as... sensible as he should be. But when something needs doing – when something is truly required of him – he is ready.”

“You should tell him that.”

“Why?”

“It's nice to hear such things from your loved ones. But maybe that's just me being human.”

“Hush now, _taana._ ” He pressed his thumb to her bottom lip to silence her, swiping the keyboard down and off with his other hand. “I do not want to talk about my cousin any more.”

“Then tell me what on your homeworld made you think of me.”

“Rather than tell you, I will show you. Surely you did not forget my promise to bring you something?”

She sat up to allow him to rise. He went to the main table where his half-unpacked traveling case still sat, fished around inside, then came back to sit beside her once more.

“These are called _kin-kin_ ,” he stated, offering her a small packet made of a kind of clear, waxy wrap. Inside were a half dozen beige squares. “The _nachakin_ nuts used to make them spoil quickly, and _kin-kin_ lacks the right flavor when made with preserved ones, so they are difficult to get outside of Yautja Prime. They are common for pups due to the consistency and high fat content, but are sometimes eaten by adults also. You would not find them at a fine banquet, but they are the sort of thing that is looked upon with nostalgic fondness.”

The squares had the malleable texture of gritty play-dough, but a rich savory flavor that landed somewhere between almonds and roasted corn. As she chewed she nodded her enjoyment, and he opened his other palm to reveal something attached to a leather string.

It was a silver dollar sized circle, roughly shaped from stalks of grass, with spokes inside like a wheel. The dry fibers were tough, flaxen in color, and bound together so tightly she could barely slide a fingernail between them as she picked it up and turned it over.

“And what is this called?”

“Nothing. It is just something children make for fun. To decorate themselves, mimicking the wearing of amulets and trophy necklaces and such as their elders do. Yautja pups are outdoors most of the day, and find many ways to amuse themselves.”

Kate rotated the pendant between her fingers. “Who did you find to make this one?”

Solar's bearing was borderline aloof as he looked down his nose (if he'd had one) at it. “This grass is commonly found, even in cities. It took no time at all, and I am not so old I forgot how to do it.”

“So – _you_ made it!? Then it's perfect.” She looped the necklace over her head. It still carried the trace of a spicy herbal scent. “Why are you making that expression?”

“Because these things are neither precious, nor valuable, nor even particularly attractive. But even though I had access to wares far more elegant, I suspected you would find more interest in things of a cultural or sentimental nature, however humble, than in mere pretty baubles.”

“You thought right.” She leaned forward, hands on his thighs, to kiss the side of his jaw. For a formidable and rather stern alien with a penchant for killing things, he really could be quite sweet.

He was looking past her, she realized, scrutinizing the trophy wall behind her. “Was something shifted?”

“Does... something look shifted?” she said a little too fast. “I just wanted to look at a few of them more closely. I hope that was alright. They're very impressive.”

His candid gaze told her he was thinking of her initial less-than-awed reaction to his trophies. But then, at the time there had been a human skull among them. She thought her response was fairly understandable. “You had a change of heart in my absence?”

“Maybe.” She aimed for distraction by peppering his cheek and neck with the soft, open-mouthed kisses she knew he liked. “You should be proud of them.”

“I am.”

His words were concise, but his hand was coming around her waist now, and as she finagled herself into his lap she continued, “The skull in the middle is almost bigger than me. I can't imagine what kind of power and skill that takes. You're so strong.”

“I hear the teasing in your voice,” he accused. “But I accept your compliments nonetheless.”

Even through their clothing the round firmness of his sheath was delicious against her ass. “Indulge me by telling me how you brought the creature down.”

“Indulge me first by telling me whether you ask this in an attempt to flatter me, or because you truly wish to hear it. Because – ” His gaze was as candid as ever, but she could see the spark of humor in it, and something more – “The manner in which I describe it depends on the audience.”

“How so?”

“For a good friend my age I could use comparisons to another prey species he has hunted, or an experience we shared together. With a juvenile I would put more emphasis on the tactics and weaponry I used, so he might learn also. With a flirtatious female...”

She curled her arms around his neck. “Go on.”

“I would neither lie nor exaggerate, but I would tell of the incident in a way that puts myself and my attributes in the best possible light, with which to further impress and arouse her.” His head tilted to one side. The thumbs and forefingers of both his hands just about spanned her waist. "Would my telling of this story arouse you?”

“It might.”

His chest rose with his deep intake of breath. “Very well. I hunted alone on a tundra planetoid far from that system's sun, with only a fraction of light per day cycle...”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Luar discovered that once asleep, T'kicta practically spun around like a propeller in bed, all while somehow remaining utterly unconscious; and T'kicta in turn learned that Luar preferred to drape his arms and legs around him as if to use him as an over-sized cushion. The two vastly different sleeping styles would have conflicted, had they not both been worn to the bone from the evening's exertions.

T'kicta awoke to the faint but unique clarity of starlight. For a groggy moment he was disoriented, and had the sinking feeling he was late for a shift – but then he remembered he did not have one today, and these were Luar's rooms, and Luar's very spiky head tucked into his shoulder.

T'kicta continued to lay quietly, but he grinned up at the ceiling as he cataloged the sensations of Luar's tress on his chest and arm, his slow and measured breathing, his hand curled slack on T'kicta's abdomen. Somehow its mere weight sent a soft warmth through the insides just below it.

Owing to his and Luar's mutual distraction with... other activities, neither had eaten last night, and T'kicta's empty stomach contracted in reminder. He could not see any time display from the bed, but he felt well-rested, and that alongside hunger led him to conclude that they'd slept long past when he normally arose. He was torn between the need to eat and the unwillingness to extricate himself from the warm cocoon of furs and Luar's limbs, but his dilemma was solved when he glanced down to see twin slivers of gold peeking up at him.

Any typical greeting stuck in his throat.

_Good morning. This feels right. Did you know you purr a little in your sleep?_

“I was just leaving,” he managed, pretending to roll away, and Luar grumbled in sleepy amusement and hauled him closer. Sex musk still clung to him, and T'kicta could scent himself on him, too; his cock twitched in its sheath, but he was still too drowsy to consider anything requiring physical effort.

“How do you get any sleep that way?” Luar murmured.

“What way?”

Luar lazily flopped an arm and leg in imitation.

T'kicta shrugged. “Mmm. I don't know.”

“You feel nice, though.”

“What does nice feel like?”

Luar let out a long, contented breath. “Like you.”

“I am not sure if I want to feel 'nice.' Sounds soft.”

Luar's hand settled again on the flat plane of T'kicta's lower abdomen. “I assure you, you are very solid.”

Their voices were soft and sleep-scratchy, ebbing back and forth and together like waves in a gentle harbor. But though T'kicta's hunger was temporarily forgotten, he really was ravenous, and Luar apparently felt the same because he released him and sat upright in bed with a yawn.

“By the gods, am I starving.”

“I am literally wasting away. If you want me to _stay_ solid, get off me so I can seek sustenance this instant.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The dining hall was full, but it was late morning, and the crowd was beginning to thin somewhat. On the opposite side of the large room T'kicta caught sight of Solar, sitting at the end of one of the long tables near the wall. His eyes followed them as they entered the meal line, and though his expression revealed nothing in particular, T'kicta knew him well enough to tell he was completely aware of what had transpired.

How did he know? What was he thinking? Would he find it strange?

T'kicta pointed him out to Luar, and when their trays were filled they went over, weaving their way through others coming and going, and sat opposite him. The space had technically been occupied, but by a very newly blooded young male who was all too ready to shuffle aside.

Solar considered them once they were seated, his mandibles working passively.

“The infusion in the dispensing machine is fresh,” he said mildly. His gaze flicked between the two of them but there was neither sharpness nor suspicion in it, only calm observation. “There was a bit of a brawl and it was knocked over. So it has just now been refilled.”

There was a pause.

“Good,” said Luar cheerfully. “I may well go to get some. Would you like any?”

“No.” Solar indicated his empty tray. “I am finished and must report to the navigation bridge.”

As he stood, he looked as if he was gearing up for something, then changed his mind and only said, very precisely, “You both look very well-rested. I am glad.”

And with that he swept out of the dining hall like a benevolent king dismissing his subjects.

T'kicta sat mutely, then as he and Luar's eyes met, he let out a stifled warble of laughter. “His lordship approves.”

“Did you expect otherwise?”

T'kicta shrugged. “I gave it no thought at all until I saw him just now.”

“No, introspection is not your strong point,” Luar teased, slanting a look at him as he began to pick apart his food. “You could have saved us both some time if it was.”

T'kicta felt the heat of his own blush. “My way is more exciting.”

Someone sat on the bench on the other side of him, and he moved in closer to Luar to make room. Their knees touched, thighs pressing together. There was nothing new about the dining hall now, and the two of them had eaten like this together before... yet it was wholly different. As if the lighting had been changed, or the scent of an unfamiliar dish wafted through the air, or the food before him tasted better than usual. Though T'kicta knew it was none of those things.

On impulse he took Luar's chin between thumb and forefinger, turned his face, and kissed him on the dome of his forehead. He ought to say something, but it all jumbled up somewhere between his heart and his mouth and wouldn't form anything he could translate into words.

“I...” He took Luar's hand and closed his own around it, and beneath the privacy of the table he held it to his thigh. Such discretion wasn't entirely necessary – far more explicit displays had taken place here – but to do so in an eating eating establishment was generally considered poor etiquette. And regardless of that he found himself not wanting this to be seen; not wanting to share just yet. To keep this close to him a little while longer.

Despite the wealth of feeling welling up inside him all he could get out was, “I love you too, you know.”

Luar pressed his forehead to the side of T'kicta's, long tress swinging forward and brushing the top spines of T'kicta's spinal fin. “I do know.”

“I've never said that to anybody before.” T'kicta's rushed confession, directed more at the braised meat on his tray, was no doubt something Luar have deduced himself. But he cut his eyes over to see Luar's mouth twisting into a self-deprecating but affectionate smile.

“Nor I.”

T'kicta's gaze narrowed dubiously. “But Dek'ka...?”

Luar's tress cuffs clicked as he shook his head, drawing back to an upright position. “Not even her. It never... we did not belong together. Saying it would not have felt right.”

They ate in companionable quiet for a time, feeling no need to fill it with chatter. Though the calm was interrupted by another argument – perhaps a continuation of the tussle Solar had mentioned.

“That is one of the _chiva_ students trying to start trouble,” Luar noted, sitting up a little straighter to see over the sea of heads at tables.

“Why is he on this deck?” T'kicta's tone was vaguely curious, primarily careless.

“Perhaps I should find out.”

“Allow me to finish your food before it gets cold, then,” T'kicta offered helpfully. “And to remind you that controlling unruly unbloods is neither your job nor mine, so if you get overwhelmed, do not look for my assistance.”

“As if I would need it!” Luar exclaimed. “Besides, I will not interfere. Their quarrel is their own. Unless,” he amended, “They appear to be on the verge of killing each other.”

“Ten credits on the brown one.”

Luar's voice all but dripped disappointment. “Why do I bother with you?”

“Because I am so very charming and good-looking. Also because of my sizable – ”

“Kiki, please – ”

“ – and very impressive – ”

“Stop – ”

“Sense of humor.” T'kicta smiled innocently. “Did you think I meant something else?”

Luar sighed and flicked the ends of T'kicta's tresses.

T'kicta was a mover. Gentle moments, generally, were not a specialty of his. He liked to keep active and busy, to veer from one stimulation to the next, his energy a bottomless fount. Even table games he could only enjoy in small doses before he grew fidgety and moved on. But now – with the morning murmur of conversation around them, and the familiar back and forth slingshot of he and Luar's repartee, and the light in Luar's eyes and the warmth in the deepest part of himself – he didn't feel like he needed to be anywhere else at all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 


End file.
